The Lost Prince Of Caledor
by Caledor54
Summary: When Imrik finds himself thrown into a world that is not his own, he meets Eragon and decides to fight at his side. it doesn't matter that they are outnumbered or that he doen't know what he is up against. He is a child of Ulthuan and he will previal.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**A/N:**** right then. This is my answer to Master of the Blood Wolves. He put out a challenge and I couldn't say no so here it is. A WFB/IC crossover. Set during Eragon, it will continue from book to book until it ends with In heritance. **

**Disclaimer: I own neither of these great ideas but I own my OC who you shall meet presently. Right Onwards! **

As the Greater Daemon fled from their onslaught, Imrik knew that the battle was won, all that was left was to banish the vile beast that had brought the Chaos horde to the shores of Caledor. A small smirk passed over his lips. For a Daemon of Tzeentch it wasn't the smartest move, attacking a realm famous for its dragons and swift retribution of all unwelcome trespassers. He turned his mind back to the task, tightening his grip on his spear and urged his faithful dragon Gwihir into a dive as the Daemon spread its wings in a vain attempt to flee. The sea-green dragon roared in anger at the sight and pulled his wings close to his body, angling himself and diving towards the foe.

As they picked up speed Imrik prepared to thrust his spear through the Daemonic back of the creature. The spear itself was a magnificent creation, gifted to his family by Asuryan himself, the sea-green blade shone with and inner brilliance. It was leaf-blade like all Elven weapons, a foot of shimmering metal set with a single dark, emerald on each side of the blade. The shaft was seven feet long, blackwood and strong, with two moulded green leather grips spaced evenly on the shaft. The spear ended in a cap of gold, holding an emerald the size of his fist within its embrace.

His armour, and that of his dragon, were also gifts from the Creator God, passed down for centuries. The chest plate was starsteel and inlaid with golden dragons breathing fire on a phoenix the rune of Asuryan on its chest. The shoulder guards were also starsteel but had dragon wings with gold inlay rising up to protect his neck. His legs were protected by a skirt of starsteel scales that ran down to mid calf. His sword was in its blackwood sheath and buckled to his belt on his left hand side. His shield was buckled to his left arm, the deign on his chest plate painted lovingly onto a white field that covered the front of the blackwood shield. Along the top and sides a gold dragon coiled around the shield. His shoulder guards also had a small curtain of scales to protect his upper arms and his starsteel bracers and greaves protected his forearms and shins. His helmet was crafted to give maximum visibility but still give protection. The face was open but the cheek guards came to just under Imrik's eyes and to the corners of his mouth. The base of the helm were turned up to deflect blows away from the neck. The top of the helm was peaked and capped with gold whereas the cheek and neck guards were starsteel. A band, like a crown, separated the top of the hem from the bottom. On the sides of the helm, however, were the most eye-catching features. Great dragon wings swept back and up over the top of the hem from his mid cheek to about eight inches over his head. A dragon's head was moulded onto the front of the helm above the eyes, its tail trailing back down the helm, to the neck guard. The dragon's wings were made of starsteel along with the rest of the dragon.

Be brought himself out of his revelry as Gwihir spread his swings and swoop low over the Daemon, smashing it from the air with a flick from his powerful tail. The dragon may young but it was powerful and intelligent, knowing what his rider wanted straight from the off. They wheeled around and swooped in for another pass at the Daemon, Imrik levelling his spear like a lance and shouting a war cry.

"Caledor and the Phoenix King!"

Then something strange happened. A portal opened before them, to the right of the Daemon. It flung itself to the side and smiled as tendrils of power shot out of the gateway and latched onto the dragon, pulling him towards the swirling purple door. Imrik howled in frustration and anger. So close! And now he would be sent to some unknown realm to suffer torment at the mercy of a Daemon. Well if he was going down, he would take his enemy with him and, with a cry lunged from the saddle, stretching himself to his full extent, thrusting his spear in front of him. He was rewarded with a muffled thud and a wail of pain as this spear passed into the Daemon's foul heart, purging it and killing the beast. He smiled as he was sucked through the void, into the waiting blackness.

He dreamed, for what seemed like an eternity, of his home in the Dragonspine mountains, of his soft bed and his mothers comforts. He dreamt of his father fighting the Chaos spawn and weeping for the loss of his son. "_I am not yet dead father!" _he wanted to shout but his voice would not work in the dream and the image faded. Slowly he awoke, pulling himself from the dark blanket of unconsciousness and opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground in a valley. He blinked and raised himself into a sitting position, taking off his helmet to greater survey his surroundings. He was sitting next to a stream that wound its way down a valley toward a lake into which poured a waterfall. Mountains marched everywhere he looked and he knew with an eerie feeling that he was no longer in his own world. He stood and walked over to Gwihir who was lying at the edge of the lake. The lake filled the valley and had a waterfall flowing into it at the far end. Behind him a river flowed into a gulley between two of the massive peeks.

"At least we both made it through unscathed. Now we just need to find a way home." He said with a touch of sadness entering his tone. He subconsciously pulled his gloves off and patted Gwihir's flank with his left hand. A sudden, burning pain in his hand caused him to jump back, crying out is surprise. When he looked at his left palm after the pain had receded he saw a strange, sliver scar in the shape of a dragon.

"What the – ," he asked, perplexed.

"_It is our link, Imrik," _A voice spoke in his mind. Imrik pulled his sword from its sheath, holding it with both hands as his spear and shield were lying on the ground where he had awoken.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" he demanded, looking from left to right expecting some daemon to emerge and attack him. Instead the voice spoke again.

"_No Imrik, it's me! Gwihir! Since you obtained that scar we can now commune with our minds!" _the voice was deep, like the rumble of the ocean but sounded excited. Imrik turned to look at his dragon and saw the truth and excitement in his eyes. Imrik's heart flooded with elation. He could talk to his dragon! He had always wanted to talk to Gwihir even though, like all Dragon Princes, he could understand Gwihir, he had never had the pleasure of speech. Now that his wish had finally come true he was speechless. There was something so strange yet so familiar in the touch of the dragon's mind that he gasped in awe."_We are one now." _Gwihir said and nuzzled him with his snout. They stood like that for a few minutes until Imrik broke the physical contact, keeping their minds firmly joined as one. He rejoiced at the presence of Gwihir, being joined heart and mind with him, making him forget about how hopeless getting home sounded for a while, then pulled himself together and began taking off his armour and stowing it in the saddle bags.

"_If people here aren't accustomed to dragons or elves then we should try not to draw attention to ourselves." _He said by way of explanation. "_Perhaps you should fly in the sky, above the clouds while I walk down here and try and find out where we are." _Gwihir sent a mental nod to Imrik as he finished talking off his armour and began to don his travelling gear. Sea-green tunic with green leggings and high black leather boots. He fastened a deep green cloak over his back, strapped on his bow and quiver that he pulled from behind the saddle on Gwihir, and pulled up his hood to hide his ears. Once he was done Gwihir jumped into the air and flew into the clouds, circling directly above him so that they could keep in mental contact, as he set off away from the lake. He glanced at the sky. Clouds where rolling in from the north and the sun was setting. A long, wet night it is then. He though wryly to himself as he walked, in no particular hurry towards another valley between the shoulders of two of the great peaks.

He had been walking for maybe an hour or so. The sun had set and the rain was pouring down. Gwihir had warned him to be careful. He had heard sounds of horns blowing further up the valley and so Imrik stood under a shelf, blending into the shadow and trying to ignore the cold, damp feel of his clothes when Gwihir burst into his mind.

"_There is another dragon!" _he yelled at Imrik.

"_What?" _he replied, astonished. I didn't think there were dragons in this world for he had seen none but now that Gwihir had seen this dragon he was intrigued.

"_She is flying back and forth over a ravine, dropping rocks on these things that look like Ogres with horns. There are what look like two humans on her back, one of which looks unconscious. I think this dragon is bonded to one of them as we are bonded." _Gwihir said sounding worried,

"_How long until they reach me?" _Imrik asked, drawing his bow and stringing it in one fluid movement.

"_I don't know, maybe an hour" _Came the reply "_I will contact the other dragon and assist her. It appears she also is too young for fire." _And with that he flew down to join this dragon, sending a mental greeting to her. Imrik withdrew slightly from the connection and focused on the task ahead. He waited, listening to the conversation that Gwihir had with the other dragon and her rider. She seemed overjoyed and confused to find another dragon so Imrik decided to question her later, for the mean time he would concentrate on waiting for the human with the horses and the unconscious elf. The fact that there was an elf in these strange lands intrigues Imrik. He would also speak to the dragon about this once the danger had past.

He was brought out of his revelry when two horse came cantering down the valley, one of them carrying an eleven woman who bounced and lolled in the saddle, with two humans driving them from behind. In the river bed, on the side of which he stood, a dragon kept pace with the two. In the darkness he couldn't see what colour it was but Gwihir told him that she was a magnificent sapphire blue. When he came within shouting distance they called the Imrik "Are you the one who is to help us?"

"Yes! Come, there is a lake just up ahead." he shouted back, falling into a jog next to the men who were running at a measured pace.

". I don't suppose you saw a way out of this valley apart from back there?" one of the humans questioned, jerking his thumb back the way he had come.

"Not that I could see" he replied, "Why?," letting his curiosity seep into his voice.

"I don't want to go to the Varden," said the boy, "my reasons are my own"

Imrik nodded and turned his attention to keeping the horses going. The emerged into the valley as Gwihir landed on the bank. They ran up the right side of the lake, heading for the falls. About half way there the boy who had asked for a way out looked behind them and cried "Urgals!" What was an Urgal? Wondered Imrik and turned. What he saw made his blood run cold. Eight feet tall, hulking monsters emerged into the valley. They had grey skin and braided black hair. They were armed with a motley collection of spears, clubs and bows. From their heads protruded their most gruesome feature. Huge ram's horns curled down each side of the beasts' heads. One of the beasts gestured at the blue dragon and bellowed something in a guttural tongue. The beasts split their forces and began to walk in single file up each side of the lake.

"Run!" barked the boy who had spotted them. With a sudden roar the blue dragon leapt forward and soared towards the beasts on the other side of the lake. Gwihir spread his wings and took to the air. "_I am going to cover her and attack the beasts on the other side._" He said before roaring a challenge and swooping towards the beasts on their side. He may have been three times the size of them but Imrik worried about the number of enemies his partner was up against. He pulled and arrow from his quiver as the other boy yelled at his dragon "No!" she dived and caught one of the creatures in her jaws. It screamed as she tore off an arm and a leg before tossing the body into the lake. Gwihir had landed side on and swung his tail at the column, slamming one of them against the wall of the mountain, crushing him. He took off again before they could retaliate. The beats pushed on. The blue dragon dove again but a hail of black arrows rose to greet her. She twisted and avoided most but a few tore into her wing. The boy who she was bonded with winced and it occurred to Imrik that he may also feel that pain of his dragon. She dived into the lake as Gwihir flew over the top of the other column, slashing down with his talons and snapping with his teeth. He wheeled and landed in front of them and growled. They halted and eyed the dragon cautiously. The lead beast japed his spear forward. Gwihir grabbed the weapon in his jaws and wrenched it from the beast's grip, snapping it in half.

They had nearly reached the waterfall. Imrik turned and drew his bow. The beasts were gaining on them. He took aim at one of the taller ones near the front and let fly. His arrow flew straight and true, sinking into the creature's chest. It grunted, stumbled and kept going. Imrik had expected as much. The bow sang again and a second arrow sprouted from the beasts knee, forcing him to stumble and fall. The blue dragon exploded from the water and snapped at the beasts. They jabbed at her with spears and bloodied her snout. She hissed in pain and drew back. Gwihir was suffering similarly, retreating gradually back towards them. A beast hit the blue dragon's haunch with a spear and she roared in pain. The boy who was bonded with her picked up a rock about the size of an apple and started banging it on the rock face, shouting "Aí Varden abr du Shur'tugalar gata vanta!" he yelled again and banged his rock against the cliff. The other began saying something before the blue dragon swooped through the waterfall and landed on the beach, crouching into a fighting position. With a roar Gwihir took to the air again and swept back towards them.

The horses freaked at the sight of the dragon and one of the boys turned to them. Just as suddenly he turned and saw the beasts. Imrik cursed himself for letting them get this close. He fitted another arrow to his bow and let fly. His arrow caught the leader in the shoulder but he kept coming, a spear raised in its hands. Imrik saw a flash of sliver fly past him and the lead beast groaned. A sword was sunk into its chest. It collapsed and the black haired boy ran forward to retrieve his weapon. The other raised his hand and yelled something in his strange language. There was a snap and around twenty of the foul creatures fell into the lake as their legs shattered. Imrik would have been disturbed if he wasn't in a live-threatening situation. What strange powers this boy had, another thing added to the list of questions he would ask. The other creatures ignored this and charged onward.

A flight of black arrows flew towards them and bounced off the stone behind them. The boys ducked and the blue dragon jumped in front of them with a growl. Gwihir swept back over the advancing column and swung his tail, knocking the leaders into the lake. He alighted next to the blue dragon. A choir of clinks resonated around the walls as a second volley bounced off the hard scales of the dragons' flanks.

"What now?" the black haired boy yelled "We can't stay here!"

"I don't know!" the other boy replied, clearly frustrated. "This is where we're supposed to be!" he turned wildly looking at the rock face as more arrows rained down on the dragons.

"Why don't you ask the elf to make sure?" demanded the black haired boy. Imrik stiffened then relaxed as he realised that they didn't know he was an elf. Neither of them had looked at him properly. He pulled up his hood, fitted an arrow and let fly. A short cry of pain then a splash as one of the monsters went down. The black haired boy did similar, using the blue dragon as cover.

"Now? She's barely alive! How's she going to find the energy to say anything?" the other boy replied indignantly.

"I don't know," shouted the other, "but you'd better think of something as we can't stave off an entire army!" The other boy seemed to have a silent conversation with his dragon. Gwihir spoke to Imrik "_We need to be on the other side, through the waterfall."_

The boy with the dragon was explaining the situation the black haired one. "We'll never get the horses through there," he said, "even if we can hold out own footing."

"I'll convince them to follow us and Saphira can carry Arya." He snapped back. So that was the dragon's name. The black haired boy shrugged.

"Better than being hacked to death" he said as he cut the elf-woman, Arya, loose from the saddle of the horse and the other boy caught her. Saphira crouched and the monsters hesitated, unsure of her. Imrik saw her intensions and told Gwihir to fly with her."Now!" the boy who was bonded with the dragon yelled and hoisted Arya into the saddle, both boys securing her into the saddle through a series of straps. When they were done Saphira swept out over the lake, closely followed by Gwihir. The beasts howled and shot arrows at them and the group on the far side ran faster to reach the waterfall before they could cross it. The horses tossed their heads and charged into the water, whinnying as the force of the water slammed into them. The black haired boy sheathed his sword and jumped in after them, his head bobbing up in a swirl of bubbles. Imrik swung his bow into his quiver and grabbed the other boy by the arm and threw him into the waterfall before diving in himself.

He came up and swam to the others side of the lake. When he surfaced he saw a small, stout being dive into the water. He looked around and saw the monsters were being felled by arrows from hidden crevasses that dotted the mountainside. Two groups of warriors had appeared behind the beasts and had engaged them. The figure came up again, pulling the boy who Imrik had pushed in with him. It was a dwarf, dressed in chainmail that cut off at the shoulders to reveal his muscled arms. A hand axe hung in his belt and an odd cap rested on his head, ox hide and steel with the symbol of a hammer surrounded by twelve stars. He swore in what Imrik assumed to be Dwarfish while wringing out his beard. "What were they thinking. You could have been killed." He looked at the fight longingly, "Barzul, but I wish I could join them!"

Imrik looked up and saw a massive door had opened in the mountainside, twelve feet thick at least. It opened into a tunnel that was nearly thirty feet high. The other boy, along with the horses and the dragons, was standing next to a tall bald human in purple and gold robes – who was holding a knife to his throat.

"Stop! If either of you use magic, I'll kill your lovely friend here, who was so kind to mention that you," he nodded at the boy next to Imrik, "are a Rider. Don't think I won't know if you're drawing upon it. You can't hide anything from me." Imrik barely suppressed a snort at this foolish man's behaviour. Imrik was more than a match for him in physical combat, though if he had powers like the boy then he may be in a bit of trouble. He dispelled the thought as the man when on "- If you say or do anything I don't tell you to, he will die. Now, everyone inside." Saphira looked at the boy next to Imrik and began to enter the tunnel. Gwihir sent a mental shrug to Imrik and he returned the gesture. The dwarf that had rescued the boy walked with them, his hand on his axe. As soon as they were all inside, the doors swung shut almost silently.

"This way." Said the bald man. He stepped to his right, keeping his knife on the black haired boy's throat, then disappeared down a passage. The horses were led into a different tunnel but all the guards had their attention on the two dragons and the boy, who Imrik could now see had brown hair and intense brown eyes. He glanced up at the slumped figure of Arya and hurried after the man. Imrik followed. They walked past a statue of a strange animal with quills and then turned sharply left, then right. A door was opened and they walked into a room big enough for both of the dragons to move around in. The door boomed as it closed and a bolt scrapped into place. Imrik looked around the room. It was made of polished white marble that reflected a pale image of his hooded self back at him. The brown haired boy started to speak but the bald man cut him off with a gesture. "Do not speak! It must wait until you have been tested." He pushed the black haired boy to one of the guards and clasped his hand. Remove your weapons and slide them to me. The brown haired boy looked loath to part with his sword but did as he was bid. Imrik unbuckled his quiver and set it down on the floor before stepping away from it. A guard hurried forward and picked them up. Now, boy, step away from your dragon and slowly approach me," said the man in a commanding tone. The boy walked forward, looking confused. "Stop there!" cried the bald man, "Now remove the defences from around your mind and prepare to let me inspect your thoughts and memories. If you try to hide anything from me, I will take it by force... which would drive you mad. If you won't submit, your companion will be killed."

"Why?" asked the boy, looking horrified.

"To be sure you aren't in Galbatorix's service and to understand why hundreds of Urgals are banging on our front door," growled the man. His eyes shifted like a master thief inspecting a miser's home. "No-one may enter Farthen Dûr without being tested." The boy tried to protest but the man roared for silence. "Until you are examined, your words are meaningless!"

"But she's dying!" insisted the boy, angrily pointing at Arya.

"It will have to wait! No one will leave this room until we have discovered the truth of this matter. Unless you wish – " the dwarf that had pulled the boy from the lake cut him off.

"Are you blind, Egraz Carn? Can't you see that's an elf on the dragon? We cannot keep her here if she's in danger. Ajihad and the king would have our heads if she's allowed to die!" he said hotly. Imrik was blown away. A dwarf defending an elf? Maybe in this word elf and dwarf were friends and not the bitter rival Imrik remembered from the tales back home. He may have to revise his view on things a bit. As it was the bald man's temper flared, the he seemed to relax and said smoothly, "Of course, Orik, we wouldn't want that to happen." He snapped his finger and pointed to the unconscious elf. "Remove her from the dragon." Two humans sheathed their swords and approached Saphira nervously, before undoing the straps that bound Arya's legs and lowering her off Saphira's back. One of them looked at her face and cried out. "It's the dragon-egg carrier, Arya!" The bald man exclaimed and the dwarf's eyes widened. The man turned to the brown haired boy and said "You have much explaining to do."

"She was poisoned with the Skilna Bragh while in prison. Only Túnivor's Nectar can save her now." The bald man stood motionless except his lips which twitched as if he was trying not to sneer. He told the soldiers that were carrying Arya to take her to the healers and guard her until the ceremony was complete. They left and he turned back the boy.

"Enough of this, we have wasted too much time already. Prepare to be examined." The tension was thick in the room.

"I am ready." Said the boy.

"Good, then – " he was interrupted by the dwarf.

"You better not harm him, Egraz Carn, else the king will have words for you."

The bald man looked irritable then faced the boy again, smiling slightly. "Only if he resists." He bowed his head and began to chant. The boy gasped with pain and stood routed to the spot. After a few second a frown creased the bald man's face and the boy turned pale. Then the bald man stood back and the boy swayed and collapsed, Imrik and the dwarf rushing to catch him.

"You went too far! He wasn't strong enough for this." Exclaimed the dwarf. Imrik glared at the man but from under the hood, his look was lost.

"He'll live. That's all that is needed," answered the bald man.

"What did you find?" the dwarf grunted angrily. The bald man pretended not to hear. "Well, is he to be trusted or no?" the dwarf asked again.

The bald man said reluctantly "he... is not your enemy." There were sighs of relief as this was said. The boy stirred and opened his eyes. Imrik and Orik helped him up, the dwarf telling the boy to take it easy. He stood and glared at the bald man as Saphira growled. He ignored them and turned to Imrik. "Remove your hood and submit to an investigation, stranger."

Imrik smirked and said "I will show you my memories of this land. Nothing more." The bald man bristled at this.

"I will inspect all your memories and if you try to hide them I will break your mind." He said angrily, taking a step forward. "Now remove your hood!" Imrik, still smirking raised his hands and lowered his hood. The bald man turned pale and the guards gasped.

"As I said before, _human_, you will see what I want you to see. Any attempt to do otherwise will result in your death. Not that you would have the power to break my shields anyway." He sneered at the man and Gwihir growled slightly. The man gulped and walked forward. He chanted again and Imrik shielded all of his mind except his memories of the fight and the battle previous to his waking in this land. The man's probe was crude and blunt but it seemed like he was taking far more care with him than he had with the boy. After examining all that he could he withdrew. Imrik opened his eyes and stared at the man. "So? Were my memories enough to convince you that I am no threat to you as of yet?" he said in a mock polite tone.

"Yes... you are clear." He seemed like he was spitting up rocks. He gave Imrik a thinly veiled look of hatred and turned to the dark haired boy. "Now you."

The boy stiffened and shook his head, drawing blood from the sword at his neck. "No."

"You will not be protected here if you refuse."

"Eragon has been declared trustworthy and I barely know the elf, so you cannot threaten them to influence me. Since you can't do that, nothing you say or do will convince me to open my mind." Imrik smiled at the boy. He had planned that well, making sure the ones he cared about were safe before making his case. The bald man sneered, raising an non-existent eyebrow.

"What of your own life? I can threaten that."

"It won't do you any good." He said resolutely. He said it with conviction, like he truly believed it and Imrik felt his respect for this boy go up a bit. The bald man's breath exploded out of him as he yelled at the boy.

"You don't have a choice!" he stepped up to the boy and put his hand on his brow, holding him in place. The boy stiffened and clenched his fists, his face remaining still and hard. The bald man bared his teeth and dug his fingers into the boy but to no avail. Eragon, the boy with the brown hair winced and looked at his dragon. Orik grumbled something in his own language and leapt forward. "That is enough!" he said as he tore the man's arm from the boy's head. The bald man stumbled and turned on Orik furiously.

"How dare you?" he shouted. "You questioned my leadership, opened the gates without permission, and now this! You've shown nothing but insolence and treachery. Do you think your king will protect you now?"

The dwarf bristled. "You would have let them die! If I had waited any longer, the Urgals would have killed them!" So that's what the beasts were called, Urgals. Imrik turned his attention back on the dwarf who pointed at the other boy and said "We don't have any right to torture him for information! Ajihad won't sanction it. Not after you've examined the Rider and found him free of fault. And they've brought us Arya and another elf."

"Would you allow him to enter unchallenged? Are you so great a fool as to put us all at risk?" the bald man looked mad, demented even. Imrik stepped up behind the dwarf, ready to intervene should the bald man lose his temper and attack. Strange, he thought, that he was stepping up to defend hid people's worst rival.

"Can he use magic?" asked the dwarf.

"That is – "

"Can he use magic?" Orik roared, filling the camber with his booming voice. The bald man's face grew unnaturally expressionless. He put his hands behind his back in a gesture of calm.

"No." He replied curtly.

"Then what do you fear? It's impossible for him to escape, and he can't work any devilry with all of us here, especially if your powers are as great as you say." Orik made it clear that he didn't think this was the case. "But don't listen to me; ask Ajihad what he wants done."

The bald man stared at the dwarf and then looked at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and trust out his hand, as if grasping something, as he silently moved his lips in the patterns of a spell. He stood like this for several minutes before opening his eyes, ignoring Orik and snapped at the warriors. "Leave, now!" they all filed out of the door as he turned on Eragon. "Because I was unable to complete my examination, you and ... your friends will remain here for the night. He will be killed if he attempts to leave." He said, gesturing at the other boy. Then he swept from the chamber.

Eragon whispered to Orik. "Thank you"

He grunted. "I'll make sure some food is brought." He muttered under his breath and left shaking his head. The bolt slid back into place once the door was shut again. Eragon looked about ready to pass out but he looked at his friend who was in the process of holding his neck with his sleeve to stop the bleeding.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The boy nodded jerkily, "Did he get anything from you?"

"No." He boy replied.

"How were you able to keep him out? He was so strong."

"I've ... I've been well trained." He sounded bitter. Eragon's attention wondered to one of the lanterns then back to his friend.

"I didn't let them know who you are." The boy looked relieved and Imrik wondered why. He inclined his head and walked over to Eragon.

"Thank you for not betraying me."

"They didn't recognise you."

"No"

"And you still say you are Morzan's son?" he said as if he was hoping for it to be a lie. Imrik wondered what this Morzan had done to make people not want their friend to be his son.

The other boy sighed as he replied. "Yes." Eragon looked like he was going to say more but he turned to his dragon and began to heal her using a strange incantation. Imrik looked a Gwihir for injuries and saw a few minor cuts in his wing. Reaching for the Winds of Magic like his tutors at the Tower had taught him he recited the healing verse under his breath. I has surprised and disturbed to learn that there were no Winds of Magic in this world. Which meant... No Chaos! Imrik reeled from the idea of a world free from the constant threat of invasion from the Dark Gods. If he could find a way to bring his people to this world, even if it was only a small amount of them, then they could flourish again! But more pressing matters were at hand.

"_I will live, don't bother him." _Gwihir said as Imrik began to make his way over to Eragon.

"_I won't let you suffer in pain!" _he snapped back. Gwihir grunted but didn't argue further. Eragon turned from healing his dragon and looked up at Imrik. Wonder shot across his face before he straightened and bowed his head. Imrik smiled. This human may not be so bad. "I'm sorry to disturb you but it appears my own magic does not work in this world. I was wondering if you could heal Gwihir or at least teach me the incantation." Confusion settled in Eragon's features as he asked. "But your an elf. Your magic is surely stronger than mine!"

"Alas no. I don't belong in this world. I was transported here by a foul trick and the Winds that power my magic do not blow in the world. Though whether this is good or bad I have yet to decide." He smiled wryly.

"Oh..." the boy seemed very confused and perhaps a little fearful but then a smile spread across his face. "I'd be glad to help." And so Imrik walked with Eragon over to Gwihir and watched as the boy healed the few wounds his dragon had received. He then taught Imrik the words he had used. Waíse heill, or be healed, in what Eragon called the Ancient Language. Imrik tried it on a small nick in Gwihir's wing. Concentrating, he funnelled his strength into the words as he spoke them. To his surprise and delight the wound closed though he noticed he felt slightly more tired than he had been before the magic. After this Eragon slumped down next to Saphira, who had moved closer to Gwihir and was now having a silent conversation with him, her sapphire eyes never leaving the sea-green ones.

"I hope they bring food soon," Said the other boy, Murtagh as Eragon had called him.

"Why are you here?" Eragon said. He sounded exhausted, crossing his arms as he said it.

"What?"

"If you are really Morzan's son, Galbatorix wouldn't let you wander around Alagaësia freely. How is it that you managed to find the Ra'zac by yourself? Why is it I've never heard of any of the Forsworn having children? And what are you doing here?" His voice rising with each question until he was barely containing a shout. Imrik queried Gwihir about the statements and Gwihir filled him in on the history of the land of Alagaësia, which he had gained from sharing memories with Saphira. Thus, Imrik understood why Eragon was asking these things of Murtagh, he would have been suspicious too.

"It's a long story," said Murtagh evasively, while drawing a hand across his face.

"We're not going anywhere," Eragon said.

"It's too late to talk."

"There probably won't be time for this tomorrow."

"Come, tell us." Said Imrik with an encouraging nod. An so, stumbling a bit on his first sentence but quickly picking up his pace, Murtagh told them of his life. How is father had won his mother, how he had been born in secret and his trials as a child. When he told of his escape Imrik saw true sadness enter his eyes at the mention of this friend's death.

"And that's how I found you ... I have no more secrets." He finished. Eragon looked brooding, running a finger over Saphira. Imrik looked into Murtagh's eyes and saw the truth of his words.

"So why don't you join the Varden?" Eragon asked Murtagh, "They'll distrust you for a time, but once you prove your loyalty they'll treat you with respect. And aren't they in a sense your allies? They strive to end the king's reign. Isn't that what you want?"

"Must I spell everything out for you?" Murtagh demanded. He continued to lecture Eragon on why he wouldn't join the rebels until the food arrived. "Finally!" he exclaimed, getting up and walking over to where three bowls of soup, a loaf and a half of bread and two hunks of meat had been pushed into the room. Imrik got up and helped Murtagh with the food, throwing the hunks of meat to the dragons, who devoured them quickly. Sitting next to Eragon with his bowl and half a loaf of bread, Imrik thought of all he had been through today and smiled wryly. If this is only the beginning, he was looking forward to the rest of his stay in this world, he thought sarcastically. Suddenly Eragon turned to him and asked him about his world. Imrik gave him a slimmed down version of Ulthuan, the Old World and the other lands in his world. After this Eragon sat in thought for a while.

"I would like to see your world one day," he said in a far away voice. Imrik noticed that Murtagh, who had retreated to the corner with his food, had also been listening to Imrik's tale.

"I'm going to sleep," he announced

"Good night." Eragon and Imrik replied before rising and walking to lie beside their dragons, each folding their wings over them like big, coloured tents. "Good night Gwihir." He murmured.

"_Good night, Little Prince." _And with that Imrik slipped into a land of dreams where his father was weeping on a battle field, an army marched towards an mountain and a black shadow approached from afar...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N: ****Right then, second chapter. Ajihad and Bless the child are the chapters in Eragon that I will be focusing on. Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I don't IC or WFB. **

**Right on with the story!**

Imrik woke early, his internal body clock waking him at his accustomed time, an hour after dawn. He stretched and slipped out from under Gwihir's wing, careful not to wake the slumbering dragon. He looked over and saw Murtagh stir slightly as Saphira growled in her sleep. He smiled at the dragon, there was something very amusing about a dragon sleep fighting. Murtagh looked over at him, nodded, then went back to lying down. Imrik nodded his head in return and walked silently around the chamber. He studied one of the lanterns of the wall. It was a tear-drop shaped piece of glass, within which a soft, blue light neither flickered or wavered. It was held together by four small metal bands that ran to the top to form a hook and to the bottom to form a tripod. Imrik marvelled at the craftsmanship of these lanterns. They were small compared with the marvels Imrik had grown up around, and having seen the White Tower of Hoeth he wasn't impressed by much, but these lanterns had a simple charm to them.

At that moment Eragon crawled out from beneath Saphira's wing as she gave another growl. He looked bleary-eyed at Murtagh, who stirred again, then at Imrik nodding at both before asking then both how long they had been awake. Murtagh replied that he had been awakened by Saphira a while ago. Imrik said he had woken around ten minutes ago.

"Do you know what time it is?" asked Eragon, sleepily. Imrik smiled at the boy. It was obvious this was his first decent night's sleep in a while.

"About an hour and a half after dawn," replied Imrik smoothly.

"Has anyone come to see us?" asked Eragon, sitting down next to Murtagh and resting his head against the wall.

"Not yet," Replied Murtagh. Saphira chose this moment to open her eyes, blink and yawn. She spun her head round and nudged Gwihir gently from his dreams which, form what Imrik could tell, had contain a certain dragon and Gwihir alone on the crags of the Dragonspine. The thought brought so much mirth to Imrik's lips he laughed out loud. Eragon, Murtagh and Saphira turned to the sound as Gwihir shook himself from his stupor and investigated the cause of Imrik's laughing. When he found it he gave an indignant growl and a puff of smoke erupted from his nostrils. This only made Imrik laugh harder and dance around him telling him he liked Saphira and was in denial about it in High Elven. The other three looked mystified but if dragons could blush Gwihir would have been crimson and not green at that moment. Imrik stopped his teasing when he heard footsteps approaching. He quickly grew sober and turned his attention to the warriors that had opened the door and filed in. The first few men gulped and barely suppressed shivers at the sight of the two dragons, though Imrik saw a few fearful looks directed at him and was pleased to see these humans were more cautious than the bald man from last night. Speaking of the man, he came in after the warriors with Orik walking slightly behind him. The bald man stopped and said, "You have been summoned to Ajihad, leader of the Varden. If you must eat, do so while we march." The boys stood together, warily eyeing the bald man.

"Where are our horses? And can I have my sword and bow back?" asked Eragon.

The bald man gave him a withering glare. "Your weapons will be returned to you when Ajihad sees fit, not before. As for your horse, they await you in the tunnel. Now come!" he turned to leave but Eragon called out the question on Imrik's mind.

"How is Arya?"

"I do not know." the bald man said, hesitating. "The healers are still with her."

One of the warriors motioned to Eragon and Imrik. "You go first." Imrik walked out of the hall next to Eragon with Gwihir, Saphira and Murtagh following behind. They walked back down the corridor from last night, re-entering the huge tunnel that they had used to enter the mountain. The bald man and Orik stood there waiting for them, the latter holding the reins of two horses.

"You will ride in single file down the centre of the tunnel," said the bald man. "Any attempt to go anywhere else and you will be stopped." Eragon began to mount Saphira and Imrik began to do the same on Gwihir. "No! Ride your horse until I tell you otherwise, except you elf! You walk." Eragon shrugged and swung onto the second horse. Imrik, however, was not going to stand here and be insulted by this puny minded bald human. With one fluid movement, he sprang forward and was face to face with the bald man, forming his mind into a spear and letting it rest at the edge of the man's consciousness. A look of panic entered his eyes and he began throwing up mental shields. "You ... you wouldn't dare!" he managed to squeak. Imrik pushed the mental tip into the man's defences, pricking them slightly. The man turned white with fear.

"I will ride my dragon, human, for you cannot stop me and have no right to order me otherwise. Choose your next words carefully, human. They may be your last." Imrik said in a dangerous whisper. He pushed the spear further into the man's mind to emphasize his point, then withdrew, springing back to stand next to Gwihir. He jumped up into the saddle and Gwihir walked to stand behind Saphira, Murtagh behind Gwihir and Eragon in front. The bald man and Orik moved to the front and the warriors moved to either side, giving the dragons a large berth. The bald man clapped twice and the column advanced. The horses' hooves filled the tunnel with a rhythmic _Clip-Clop_. Imrik looked at the flawless tunnel that ran straight to the heart of the mountain. Having read many of the books on the dwarves of the Old World, Imrik was unsurprised that these dwarves had achieved a similar feat.

They walked in silence for nearly an hour. Then they came upon marble pillars set with gems and surrounded by the lanterns that they had seen earlier, except these gave out a red glow instead of a blue one. Above the pillars, raven heads were carved in mid-crow and at the end of the tunnels stood two massive black doors embroidered with a seven pointed star in silver. The bald man stopped the column and told Eragon to mount Saphira. Once he had done so the bald man and Orik retreated and told Imrik and Gwihir to move up to stand beside Eragon and Saphira. Imrik flashed Eragon a quick smile.

"_It appears the wish to parade us,"_ said Gwihir with a hint of amusement.

"_Then let us not disappoint," _Replied Imrik, equally amused._ "They are expecting Eragon so let him go first ... but not by much." _Imrik added with a chuckle. The bald man gave them the instructions to follow the path slowly and the doors swung open.

Imrik was momentarily blinded by a shaft of sunlight that fell on them. He waited for his eyes to adjust, not showing any discomfort, as he looked around. They were in a massive volcanic crater. At the top a ragged hole let in a beam of light that illuminated the centre of the crater and left the rest in a dusty twilight. The crater was around ten miles across and around fifteen tall, from what Imrik could judge. He saw the huge icicles that clung to the sides of the mountain like stalactites. A wide cobblestone road lead Imrik's gaze to a shining min-mountain, illuminated by the sun-hole. Imrik heard Orik rumble, "Look well, human, and you elf, for no Rider has set eyes upon this for nigh over a hundred years. The airy peak under which we stand is Farthen Dûr – discovered thousands of years ago by the father of our race, Korgan, while he tunnelled for gold. And in the centre stands our greatest achievement: Tronjheim, the city-mountain built from the purest marble." Imrik was stunned by this announcement. A city! Imrik knew at once that there were few things that could match this work of mastery, the White Tower and the Gates of Lothren being among them, but the fact that they had built it with their own hands and not magic was astounding to Imrik. He let his awe show a little on his face.

The doors opened to their full extent and revealed the crowd. They looked like an ocean of faces, clustered at the sides of the road, looking expectantly at the doors. Imrik saw a wave of shock ripple through the crowd at the sight of two dragons and suppressed a smirk. It appeared that dragon Riders were even more important here than in Ulthuan. Eragon seemed to be paralysed with shock, he looked at the crowd with fear in his eyes. Sweat beaded on his brow. He twitched his lips in a vain attempt to smile then jerked a hand into the air. He pulled it down after a second and looked embarrassedly at Imrik for help. A single cheer sounded, someone clapped and Imrik knew he needed to do nothing as the wave of noise hit them. The Varden erupted into cheering and waving, smiling faces everywhere.

"Very good," said the bald man. "Now start walking."

Eragon looked visibly relieved and Imrik allowed a small smile to play on his lips as he swept his gaze from face to face. He saw Saphira swing her head towards the crowd and exhale a puff of smoke into their faces. They shrunk back, quietened, then came back roaring all the louder. Saphira flicked her tail and continued forward. A woman fell forward in front of them, looking like she had tripped. Gwihir shot out his head and caught her, raising his head and helping her stand. He stared at her with one sea-green eye, blinked and moved on, the woman breathing very quickly as Imrik flashed her a smile before turning his attention back to the road. The crowd seemed to be populated more with dwarves than any other race. Imrik had hoped that there would be other elves here but it seemed that the Varden was a mainly human group. This sadden Imrik greatly but he didn't let it show. He would talk to Arya when she had recovered. As he watched many of the dwarves eyes Eragon and him with a suspicious eye, some even turned and walked away. Tensions must be running high, thought Imrik. The crowd eventually thinned and Imrik saw Eragon looking back at Murtagh, who was stiff as a board and white as a sheet. Imrik gave him a sympathetic glace and turned back to the front.

As they approached the city-mountain, Imrik admired it even more. It was built in a flowing style that reminded Imrik of the buildings in Chrace and Ellyrion. It looked like the rock had been moulded like clay rather than chiselled and polished. The windows gleamed with elaborate frames, the lanterns lighting them up with a multitude of colour. Imrik was surprised to see two solid gold griffins guarding the gate to the city, which was recessed quite deeply into the outer wall with a vaulted ceiling forming a small tunnel to the gate. As they reached the base of Tronjheim, Saphira paused, then kept going when the bald man didn't speak. They marched between pillars of jasper, gleaming like fresh blood. Between the pillars was a series of odd looking creatures carved in amazing detail. A vaulted ceiling four stories high rose to great them, forming a passage straight to the centre of Tronjheim. The top three levels were riddled with arches that had filled with people. Rich tapestries hung from various levels depiction great heroes and glorious battles. The bottom level was also riddled with archways but each was barred by a stout door.

Another cheer rang out as Eragon, Saphira, Gwihir and Imrik stepped into the passage. Eragon waved again and the crowd roared, though many dwarves didn't raise their voice with the throng. They continued down the hall for a mile, until it ended in black onyx pillars capped with gold that shimmered brightly in the light. They came to a circular room, a good thousand feet in diameter, which rose the height of Tronjheim with arches for each level. On the floor was a device, a hammer surrounded by twelve stars, like Orik's helmet. Three other halls lead off from this room, one heading straight ahead and the others heading left and right respectively. The left and right tunnels lead to stairs that curved underground in perfect symmetry.

The ceiling was, by far, the most impressive feature in the room. A dawn-red star sapphire at least twenty yards across capped the ceiling. It was carved to resemble a rose and was so realistic that Imrik was stunned that it could exist without the use of magic. A ring of lanterns encircled the gem, their light adding to the effect of the star seeming like a giant eye looked down upon them.

Eragon gaped openly at the jewel while Imrik merely stared in wonder, his lips slightly parted. If Loremaster Teclis could see this he would have demanded to know what had carved it. By Asuryan's grace, Imrik was stunned that mortal beings could craft something so intricate with mere hammers and chisels.

He was brought back to the real world when the bald man asked them to dismount, to the displeasure of the crowd. A dwarf lead the horses away as Eragon and Imrik dismounted, sticking close to their dragons. They were forced into single file was they marched on, the corridors becoming too narrow to hold more than a dragon and two men abreast. They arrived at a pair of black cedar doors. The bald man opened them and ushered everyone but the guards inside.

The room they entered was two storied, set out like a work space, and lined with cedar bookshelves. A set of iron stairs wound up to a reading balcony adorned with two chairs and a table. More of the strange lanterns dotted the walls and ceiling so there was no shadow anywhere in the room. The floor was covered in an elegant oval rug. At the end of the room, a man stood behind a desk of walnut.

The man's skin gleamed like ebony, Imrik's mind instantly thinking of the inhabitants of Araby, and a close cropped black beard was the only hair on his face. He looked strong, confident, yet the shadows of his face showed grief and grave resolve. His eyes sparkled with intelligence. His frame was well built, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. This was emphasized by the red vest embroidered with gold, that was clasped over a purple shirt. He seemed to Imrik, like the kind of man that knew what he was doing, gave orders, and was used to having them carried out. His voice only backed up Imrik's judgement. It was strong, confident and deep: "Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon and Saphira. Welcome also to you elf, and your dragon, though I have not had the pleasure of your names. I am Ajihad, please, be seated."

Eragon sat down next to Murtagh and Imrik sunk into the arm chair of his other side. Saphira and Gwihir crouched behind their Riders, with Murtagh sharing the protectiveness of Saphira. Ajihad snapped has fingers and another bald man stepped out from behind the stairs. _Twins, _though Imirk, _how interesting._ Eragon looked confused while Murtagh stiffened noticeably. Ajihad smiled slightly.

"Your confusion is understandable, they are twin brothers. I would tell you their names, but they have none." This confused Imrik slightly as he had heard Orik call the first twin something that sounded like a name. He realised quickly it must have been a name given to him by the dwarf, either that or an insult in the dwarfs' language. He smirked inwardly at the second thought. Saphira hissed at them as the Twins made their way to stand behind the stairs, side by side. "On the subject of names, perhaps you would care to introduce yourselves?" he said, gesturing at Imrik, Gwihir and Murtagh. Imrik smiled slightly and spoke.

"I am Imrik Gwindorian, Prince of Caledor, in southern Ulthuan," as he said this he let his pride, confidence and anger steal into his voice. He drew himself up in his chair, letting the light of the Asur, which he had been suppressing, shine forth from his body. It added more brightness to the room and everyone gasped. The Twins looked more than a little scared, Ajihad surprised and impressed, Eragon shocked, Murtagh awed and Orik's eyebrows had travelled so far up his brow that they would soon be hidden by his cap. Only Saphira didn't show any signs of surprise, in fact she seemed to find the reactions of the others very amusing as she let out a throaty chuckle. Imrik continued, "My dragon is Gwihir the Sun dragon." Imrik dampened the glow of the Creator God and smirked, relaxing into his chair. The Twins finally recovered from their shock and fear, one of them whispering in Ajihad's ear. He replied and, if possible, the Twin paled even more than he had done when Imrik unveiled himself. Ajihad nodded and looked at Murtagh.

"You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dûr because the Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Arya. I understand that there are things that you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."

"You wouldn't trust me anyway," Murtagh said, his eyes blazing with defiance.

Ajihad's face darkened and his eyes flashed with rage. "Though it's been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear ... I know that voice." He stood slowly, his anger apparent and his figure ominous. The Twins looked alarmed and whispered to each other furtively. Imrik caught snatches of their conversation. "Should have told ... son of Morzan ... fought him with Brom!" Ajihad continued, ignorant of the conference behind him. "It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up."

Murtagh rose warily, looking from the Twins to Ajihad like a cornered animal. "Remove your shirt," ordered Ajihad. Imrik leant forward in his chair in interest. Murtagh merely shrugged and removed the garment, dropping it to the floor. Imrik saw a scar, brutal and thick, stretching from Murtagh's right shoulder to his left hip. He kept his expression impassive, but inwardly he was shocked that one so young could have such a wound and live. "Now turn around." Murtagh turned to reveal the scar that covered his back.

"Murtagh." Breathed Ajihad. Orik grunted with surprise. Ajihad spun around and roared at the Twins, "Did you know of this?"

The Twins bowed their head, looking cowed. Imrik narrowed his eyes at the pair. So this was their little conversation was about. "We discovered his name in Eragon's mind, but we did not suspect this _boy _was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred – "

"And you didn't tell me?" demanded Ajihad. He waved his hand impatiently, cutting the Twins off a second time. Imrik smirked at the twin looks of outrage that flitted across their faces. "We will discuss this later." He turned back to Murtagh. "First I must untangle this mess. Do you still refuse to be probed?"

"Yes," said Murtagh as he slipped back into his shirt. "I won't let anyone inside my head."

Ajihad leaned forward on his desk. "There will be unpleasant consequences if you don't. Unless the Twins can certify that you aren't a threat, we cannot give you credence, despite and perhaps because of, the assistance you have given Eragon. Without that verification, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I'll be forced to keep you confined at all times – as much for your own protection as for ours. It will only get worse once the dwarf king, Hrothgar, demands custody of you. Don't force yourself into that situation when it can easily be avoided."

Murtagh shook his head like a mule. "No ... even if I were to submit, I would still be treated like a leper and an outcast. All I wish is to leave. If you let me do that peacefully, I will never reveal your location to the Empire."

"What will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix?" Ajihad said angrily. "He will extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be. Even if you could resist him, how can we trust that you won't rejoin him in the future? I cannot take that chance."

Will you hold me prisoner forever?" Murtagh asked, alarmed.

"No," said Ajihad, "only until you let yourself be examined. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr's location from your mind before you leave. We won't risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix's hands. What is it to be, Murtagh? Decide quickly or else the path will be chosen for you."

Imrik stepped forward. "I will vouch for the boy. I see not treachery in his eyes, and there are other ways to take away a memory than taking it from someone's mind. As you know, I am impartial to your cause and that of the Empire, I don't know enough of the situation to make a reasoned judgement, but if he wishes to leave then let him. I can alter his mind with a potion and place false memories in their place, if he wishes, then you can take him far from here and he will be free once more."

"What say you Murtagh? Will you consent to examination or this potion?" asked Ajihad after looking at Imrik with his dark eyes.

"My mind is the one sanctuary that has not been stolen from me. Men have tried to breach it before, but I've learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe in my innermost thoughts. You have asked for the only thing I cannot give, least of all to those two." He gestured to the Twins. "Do with me what you will, but know this: death will take me before I expose myself to their probing or any form of memory alteration."

Ajihad's eyes glinted in admiration for Murtagh, even Imrik was mildly impressed. "I'm not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise ... Guards!" the doors slammed open and the warriors rushed in, weapons drawn. Ajihad pointed at Murtagh and ordered, "Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely. Post six men by the entrance and allow no one inside until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either."

The warriors crowded around Murtagh, eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and mild fear. As they left Imrik gave him a look of pity and Eragon mouthed, "I'm sorry." Murtagh shrugged, set his eyes forward, and disappeared out of the room.

Ajihad abruptly said "Everyone who is not a dragon or Rider, leave. Now!"

The Twins bowed and left but Orik remained and said, "Sir, the king will want to know of Murtagh. And there is the matter of my insubordination ..."

Ajihad frowned and waved a hand. "I will tell Hrothgar myself. As for your actions ... wait outside until I call you. And don't let the Twins get away. I'm not done with them, either."

"Very well," said Orik, inclining his head. He walked out and closed the doors with a solid boom.

After a long silence, Ajihad dropped his farce. He slumped back into his chair and let out a tired sigh, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if seeking guidance from the Gods. Eragon fidgeted impatiently then blurted out, "Is Arya all right?" Imrik had been thinking the same thing. He felt an odd surge of protectiveness for the woman, though he couldn't quite explain it. Gwihir chuckled when he felt this through their link but refused to say why.

Ajihad looked grave when he answered. "No ... but the healers tell me she will recover. They worked on her all through the night. The poison took a dreadful toll on her. She wouldn't have lived if not for you. For that you have the Varden's deepest thanks."

Eragon's shoulders slumped with relief and Imrik let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "So, what now?" Eragon asked Ajihad.

"I need you to tell me how you found Saphira and everything that's happened since," Ajihad set his fingertips together. "Some of it I know from the letter Brom sent us, other parts from the Twins. But I want to hear it from you, especially the details concerning Brom's death. Then I would like to hear your story, Prince Imrik." Imrik nodded his consent and awaited Eragon's tale with eagerness. Eragon began hesitantly but became more fluid as his tale moved from his finding of Saphira's egg, to his flight from Carvahall and his travels on his way to Teirm. He told of his dreams of Arya and his capture in Gil'ead at the hands of the Shade. Ajihad's face darkened at this but he held is tongue. It went on for hours and when Eragon had finally finished, Imrik found a new respect for the youth blossom in his chest. Ajihad talked about the sadness of Brom's death and Imrik realised they must have been friends. He asked about the alliance between the Urgals and Galbatorix, and asked Eragon to describe the Shade. At this point Imrik interceded.

"What is a Shade? Forgive my ignorance but I have been in this world the sum total of a day and have learned very little of it," Imrik said in a polite tone. Eragon and Ajihad turned to him and sighed. Ajihad's face darkened.

"A Shade is one of the most vile, corrupted and evil things that magic can create. They are formed from spirits, which are generally peaceful until they are trapped in a body. A Shade is extremely strong in both body and mind, and they are very proficient magic users. They can only be killed from a thrust threw the heart, so I'm sorry to say that Murtagh may not have killed the Shade at Gil'ead, merely caused it a lot of pain. Tell me Eragon," he said, turning to face Eragon again as Imrik nodded his understanding, "what did this Shade look like?

"He was tall, thin and very pale, with red eyes and hair. He was dressed all in black." Said Eragon, shivering at the memory.

Ajihad leant forward intensely and asked, "what of his sword – did you see it? Did it have a long scratch on the blade?"

Eragon looked surprised by this question. "Yes, how did you know?"

A small smile touched Ajihad's lips when he answered, "Because I put it there while trying to cut out his heart. His name is Durza – one of the most vicious and cunning fiends to ever stalk this land. He is the perfect servant for Galbatorix and a dangerous enemy for us. You said Murtagh shot him. Where?"

"He shot him twice. The first arrow caught him in the shoulder; the second one struck him between the eyes ... so that means he isn't dead. As you feared." Finished Eragon solemnly.

A silence filled the room as Eragon pondered the news and Ajihad looked solemn. Imrik waited for Ajihad to break the silence. Ajihad addressed Eragon again. "You are an enigma, Eragon, and you too, Prince Imrik," he said turning to address Imrik. Imrik waved the formality aside. "A quandary that no one knows how to solve. Everyone knows what the Varden wants – or the Urgals, or even Galbatorix – but no one knows what you want. That makes you dangerous, especially to Galbatorix. He fears you because he doesn't know what you will do next." Imrik considered this statement. It was true that being unpredictable made you dangerous, but it also made you untrustworthy. Imrik needed allies if he was to get home so he decided to make his intensions clear. "I wish to return home. That is my want, my desire. If you can help me then I will gladly support you, for I have no wish to be on the side of any evil being such as the Shade, Durza or his master Galbatorix. If you cannot then I will find my own way home, perhaps consulting the elves of this land will be in order, but if you have any chance to send me home, I will join the Varden."

Ajihad looked at Imrik with those dark, intelligent eyes. "We will try everything in our power to get you home, but it may take a while. The Varden's primary objective it to destroy Galbatorix."

"Then I will fight at your side until he lies dead." Replied Imrik in an even tone.

Eragon turned to Ajihad. "Do the Varden fear me?"

"No," said Ajihad, choosing his word with care, "we are hopeful. But if that hope proves false, then yes, we will be afraid. As for you Imrik, I am glad to have another ally. Do you know of any more of your kinsmen that could have been transported into Alagaësia?"

"No, but if anymore happen to find their way into this world, they should rally to me. They will follow my lead." Imrik smiled at the thought of having a few of his own race around him.

Ajihad nodded and turned to Eragon again. "You must understand the unusual nature of your position. There are factions who want you to serve their interests and no one else's. The moment you entered Farthen Dûr, their influence and power began tugging on you both."

"Including yours?" asked Eragon. Imrik sighed at the mention of politics. He hated it personally, too much sarcasm and inaction for his taste, but in human politics, he might have a major influence. The courts of Ulthuan make even the most sophisticated of human governments look like a childish gathering of squabbling. Ajihad chuckled at Eragon's comment though his eyes didn't share the humour.

"Including mine. There are certain things you should know ..." Ajihad went on to explain how Saphira's egg had been stolen from Galbatorix by Brom and brought to the Varden. How it was agreed to be transferred between the Varden and the elves. How last year Arya had disappeared along with the egg and how the Elven queen, Islanzadi, had been enraged at this and withdrawn her support for the Varden. Imrik took special interest to learn that the elves lived in the forest of Du Weldenvarden in the north. So they resemble the wood elves in living. Which means they will most probably not eat meat, thought Imrik when he heard this. He also heard of the agreement to send the new Rider to the elves to be trained and how he didn't think it was possible. The talk shifted to the dwarves, their politics and their resentment to the dragons. They talked of Galbatorix, with Imrik interjecting when they mentioned things unknown to him, and how he is getting stronger, of the Urgals' movements, of suspected traitors, to which Imrik bristled, and the expectations of the people. Ajihad told them to recover for now, then they would talk in a few day time. Eragon turned to him after glancing at Saphira.

"And what about Murtagh?" it was clear he wasn't pleased with what had happened to his friend.

Ajihad's face fell into shadow once more as he drew Eragon's red sword from beneath his desk, then reached down and pulled out Imrik's bow and quiver, laying them on the desk as he ran his hand along the blade, his fingers resting on a glyph that had been carved into the wood of the sheath. "He will stay until he allows the Twins into his mind."

"You can't imprison him, he's committed no crime!" Eragon argued

"We can't give him his freedom without being sure he won't turn against us. Innocent or not, he's potentially as dangerous to us as his father was," said Ajihad with a sigh of regret. He obviously didn't want to imprison the boy, though Imrik could see it was the only valid choice. Eragon appeared to have reached a similar conclusion for he asked, "How were you able to recognise his voice?"

Ajihad tapped the sword's hilt. "I met his father once. I wish Brom had told me he had taken Morzan's sword. I suggest that you don't carry it within Farthen Dûr. Many here remember Morzan's time with hate, especially the dwarves." Eragon promised to remember it as Ajihad handed him the sword. He also passed the quiver and bow back to Imrik who received his weapons lovingly, running his hands over the bow and quiver, checking his arrows and knives where correct. He lost track of the conversation for a few minutes. He saw Ajihad hand Eragon a ring but thought little of it. He came back when Ajihad stood and looked at Saphira and Gwihir. "Do not think I have forgotten you, O mighty dragons. I have said this as much for your benefit as for Eragon's and Imrik's. It is important you know them, for to you falls the task of guarding them in these dangerous times. Do not underestimate your might nor falter at their side, for without you they will surely fail."

Saphira lowered her head until their eyes were level, staring into Ajihad with her vertical pupils. Gwihir snaked his head around to a level next to Saphira, waiting for Ajihad. He lowered his head and said softly, "It is indeed to stand in the presence of not one, but two dragons." Saphira swung to look at Eragon. After a moment Eragon turned to Ajihad and relayed a message from Saphira.

"_And I would have aided her, or surpassed her if they had hurt you!" _Gwihir growled into Imrik's mind and he also repeated the message of destruction and death to any that mean harm to the Riders or Saphira.

"I would have expected nothing less from you – but I doubt you would have got past the twins."

Saphira and Gwihir snorted and Imrik smirked. Eragon said by way of explanation, "Then they must be much stronger than they appear. I think that they would be sorely dismayed if they ever faced a dragon's wrath, let alone two dragons. They may be able to defeat me, but never Saphira, Imrik or Gwihir. You should know, a Rider's dragon strengthens his magic beyond what a normal magician may have. Brom was always weaker than me because of that. I think that in the absence of the Riders, the Twins have overestimated their power."

At this Imrik let loose a bark of laughter, "Overestimated? I think they have taken arrogance to a level I haven't seen since the human Bright Wizard, Manius Firebeard, challenged High Loremaster Teclis to a duel, claiming that humans are the greatest mages in the world. Teclis destroyed him within the blink of an eye." He smirked as he recalled the spectacle.

Ajihad looked disturbed as he said, "Brom was considered one of our strongest spell weavers. Only the elves surpassed him. If what you say is true, we will have to reconsider a great many things." He bowed to each of the dragons, "As it is, I am glad that it wasn't necessary to harm any of you." The dragons both dipped their heads in acknowledgment. Ajihad straightened and had the look of a human lord when he called, "Orik!".

The dwarf hurried in and stood before the desk, arms crossed. Ajihad frowned and said, "You've caused me a great deal of trouble, Orik. I've had to listen to one of the Twins complain all morning about your insubordination. They won't let it rest until you are punished. Unfortunately they're right. It's a serious matter that cannot be ignored. An accounting is due."

Orik explained what had happened last night, with Eragon vouching for his inability to get out of the waterfall on his own. He explained why he had stopped the Twin from forcing Murtagh's mind open, with Imrik saying he was about to do the same thing. It was true but it didn't change Ajihad. "You actions were honourable," he began, "but you did defy a direct order from your commander. The penalty for that has always been death." Orik stiffened.

"You can't kill him for that! He was only helping me," cried Eragon. Imrik put his hand on his shoulder.

"It isn't your place to interfere," said Ajihad sternly. "Orik has broken the law and must suffer the consequences." Eragon began to argue but Ajihad silenced him with a hand. "But you are right. The sentence will be mitigated because of the circumstances. As of now, Orik, you are removed from active service and forbidden to engage in any military activities under my command. Do you understand?"

Orik's face was a mixture of anger and confusion. Then he nodded sharply. "Yes."

"Furthermore, in absence of your regular duties, I appoint you Eragon, Saphira, Imrik and Gwihir's guide for the duration of their stay. You are to make sure they receive every comfort and amenity we have to offer. Saphira and Gwihir will stay above Isidar Mithrim. Eragon and Imrik may have quarters wherever they want. When they recover from their respective trips, take them to the training fields. They're expecting them," Ajihad's eyes were alive with humour and Imrik could barely suppress a smirk at this 'punishment'.

"I understand." Said Orik, bowing deeply.

"Very good, you may all go. Send the Twins in as you leave."

Eragon and Imrik bowed and turned to go but then Imrik remembered Arya. He turned and asked, "Where can I find Arya? I wish to visit her." He looked sideways with an amused smile at Eragon who had done a near exact replica of Imrik, only a second slower.

"No one is allowed to see her. You must wait until she comes to you." He looked down at his desk and it was clear he would say no more.

-just a line-

As they left, Imrik met eyes with the Twins. He smirked and mocked a bow, gesturing for them to enter. They gave him twin looks of hate as they marched past and closed the door. Eragon stretched from sitting so long. He turned to Orik and apologised.

"Don't bother yourself," he grunted looking at Imrik with a glint in his eye. Imrik winked back, "Ajihad gave me what I wanted."

Saphira and Eragon appeared stunned by this. "Allow me to explain," said Imrik, letting his mirth show in his voice, "Ajihad has suspended Orik from service under him, but Orik is still a dwarf, and subject to the dwarven king, so the punishment is moot. Also he has made him a guide, making him the person closed two us, the Riders. He just put you in a very powerful position, and in a way that will infuriate the Twins, but they cannot protest against it."

"Aye, now come on I bet you and your dragons are hungry." There was a hiss from both dragons.

"They have names, it would be best if you used them," said Imrik chuckling at Gwihir's anger. He was liking the dwarf more and more. "This is Gwihir." He said gesturing at the green dragon.

"And this is Saphira." Said Eragon. Orik made a small bow to both dragons, Saphira first, then walking behind her to bow to Gwihir.

"My apologies, I'll be sure to remember that." He took a lamp from the hallway and lead them back towards the central chamber, Eragon behind him with Saphira, Imrik and Gwihir bringing up the rear. Eragon asked about other magic users in the Varden. Orik relied by saying that most were too weak to do more than heal a bruise, and that the Twins were the main power. As they emerged into one of the main tunnels, dwarves and humans stopped and stared at the odd procession. Imrik met the eyes of all who looked at him, and held their gaze until they looked away. He smirked, seeing the fear, awe and embarrassment that could be caused by even the flick of his eyes.

"Where are we going?" asked Eragon from the front.

"Out of the halls so that Gwihir and Saphira can fly to the dragonhold above Isidar Mithrim, the Star Rose. The dragonhold doesn't have a roof – Tronjheim's peak is open to the sky, like that of Farthen Dûr – so they, that is, Gwihir and Saphira, will be able to glide straight down into the hold. It is where the Riders used to stay when they visited Tronjheim."

"Won't it be cold and damp without a roof?" queried Eragon.

"Nay." Orik shook his head. "Farthen Dûr protects us from the elements. Neither rain nor snow intrudes here. Besides, the hold's walls are lined with marble caves for the dragons. They provide all the shelter necessary. All you need to fear are the icicles; when they fall they've been known to cleave a horse in two."

"_I am no horse!" _Exclaimed Gwihir angrily and Imrik suppressed a laugh.

"Where are out horses?" asked Eragon.

"In the stables by the gate. We can visit them before leaving Tronjheim."

They exited the city through the same gate they entered, the golden griffins gleaming. The sun had moved during their audience with Ajihad and now the crater was covered with a layer of velvet, shimmering in the dusk. The only light came from Tronjheim, the city-mountain gleaming like a great silver hearth, illuminating the nearby parts of the crater. Orik turned to the dragons who were now side by side. He pointed at the white pinnacle and said, "Fresh meat and pure mountain water await you up there. You may stay in any of the caves. Once you make your choice, bedding will be laid down in it and then no one will disturb you."

"I thought we would be going together," protested Eragon. Imrik held his thoughts but he too didn't wish to part with his dragon, "I don't want to be separated."

Orik turned and faced him. "Rider Eragon, Rider Imrik, I will do everything to accommodate you but, it would be best if Saphira and Gwihir wait in the dragonhold while you eat. The tunnels to the banquet halls aren't large enough for them to accompany us."

"Why can't food be brought to the hold?" asked Imrik politely. He knew perfectly well why but for the benefit of Eragon's dignity he appeared ignorant. The human was only the third of his kind that didn't grate on his nerves or outright enrage him so he thought he would be nice towards him. It wouldn't do to make an enemy from a potential friend.

"Because," said Orik with an expressionless face, "the food is prepared down here, and it is a long way to the top. If you wish, a servant could be sent up to the hold with a meal for you. It would take some time, but you could eat with Saphira and Gwihir then." Eragon looked at Saphira and Imrik turned to Gwihir.

"_I wish to see this dragonhold. Eat down here and keep Eragon company. I wish to also spend some more time with Saphira and learn more of this land. Besides, fresh meat should never be turned down." _said Gwihir with a chuckle.

"_Agreed. Enjoy your alone time while you have it. You may not get a chance like this in centuries! She's definitely the dragon of your dreams, don't let her get away!" _Replied Imrik, dancing back and laughing as Gwihir snapped at him in annoyance. "Come here and let me undo your saddle, my love sick dove." Said Imrik in High Elven, undoing the straps around Gwihir's saddle and armour, which had been left on last night, and letting him scoop them up in his claws. Imrik extracted his sword from a saddlebag, strapped it to his waist and gave Gwihir a knowing smirk. The dragon tossed his head and jumped into the sky, Saphira close behind him.

"Ah, you two are truly blessed. I find a sudden longing in my heart for open skies and soaring cliffs and the thrill of hunting like a hawk. Still my fee are better on the ground – preferably under it." He clapped loudly "I neglect my duties as a host. I know you've not dined since that pitiful dinner the Twins saw fit to give you, so come, let's find the cooks and beg meat and bread from them!"

"What was that about?" asked Eragon as they made their way back into Tronjheim.

"Ah but that would be telling, Eragon" said Imrik with a wink. Orik caught the look and questioned him with a look. Imrik merely winked and glanced at the dragonhold. Orik's eyes widened and he turned his head, but Imrik could hear the barely suppressed chuckles of the dwarf's mirth.

They walked quickly through the labyrinth of tunnels, Imrik memorising the route on the way, and quickly arrived at a long room that look like a feasting hall for dwarves. Orik spoke words in his own tongue to a ruddy-faced dwarf and they were each given a plate piled high with steaming mushrooms and fish. Orik lead them to an alcove in the outer wall of the city where they sat, cross-legged, and devoured the food.

When they had finished, Orik sighed contentedly and pulled out a pipe. He lit it and said, "A worthy repast, though it needed a good draught of mead to wash it down properly."

Eragon looked out at the barren plain surrounding Tronjheim. "Do you farm in Farthen Dûr?"

"No, there's only enough sunlight for moss, mushrooms and mould. Tronjheim cannot survive without supplies from the surrounding villages, which is one reason why many of us choose to live elsewhere in the Beor Mountains."

"Then there are other dwarf cities?"

"I would hues at least another twelve," said Imrik thoughtfully.

"How would you know that?" Eragon asked, bewildered. Imrik chuckled at the look.

"There are thirteen dwarf clans, and this is the capital of one of them. So if there are another twelve clans out there then surely they will have their own capital or strongpoint. Orik?"

"Aye, but there's not as many cities as we would like. Most clan holds are little more than a town or fortress. You have only seen the lower levels so you haven't seen that most of Tronjheim is deserted. The farther up you go, the emptier it gets. Entire floors have remained untouched for centuries. Most of us prefer to dwell under Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr in the caverns and passageways that riddle the rock. Through the centuries we have tunnelled extensively under the Beor Mountains. It is possible to walk from one end to the other without even setting foot on the surface."

"Sounds like the Underway," said Imrik thoughtfully. He had read about the great underground highway of the dwarf holds. "A road that ran from dwarf hold to dwarf hold in my world, under a series of mountains known as the World's Edge Mountains."

"There are dwarves in your world?" asked Orik in wonder.

"Yes," Imrik replied with sadness, "But around four thousand years ago, the Druchii, our dark cousins, attacked the dwarves dressed as High Elves. The dwarves demanded recompense and the Phoenix King at the time, Caledor the Warrior, told them to come to Ulthuan and beg. The dwarf king demanded twice what he had originally ask for. In return, Caledor sent the messenger home with his beard shorn." Imrik paused as Orik looked at him incredulous, "What happened next was known as the War of the Beard. The Elven and Dwarven Empires tore each other to pieces, weakening each other so much that we were sitting ducks for the forces of evil. Caledor himself came to supervise the defeat of the dwarf kings. He will killed by King Gotrek, the Phoenix Crown was lost and the dwarves refused to fight any more. After that we were nearly overrun by the Druchii, the Dark Elves." Imrik shook his head at the blot on his people's great history. Orik looked stunned and Eragon awed.

Finally Eragon came to his senses and turned to Orik, "How many Varden are here?"

Orik shook himself and faced Eragon, "Human or dwarves?"

"Humans – I want to know how many have fled the Empire."

Orik took a long puff on his pipe, which had lain forgotten in his hands during Imrik's revelation about the dwarves in his world. "There are about four thousand of your kin here. But that's a poor indicator of what you want to know. Only people who wish to fight come here. The rest of them are under King Orrin's protection in Surda."

"Why doesn't Orrin fight the Empire himself?" asked Eragon after a moment of consideration, his face falling in despair.

"If he were to show open hostility," said Orik, "Galbatorix would crush him. As it is, Galbatorix withholds that destruction because he considers Surda a minor threat, which is a mistake. It's though Orrin's assistance that the Varden have most of their weapons and supplies. Without him, there would be no resisting the Empire."

"Don't despair over the number of humans in Tronjheim. There are many dwarves here – many more than you have seen – and all will fight when the time comes. Orrin has also promised us troops for when we battle Galbatorix. The elves pledged their help as well."

Eragon's eyes wondered to Orik's cap, where what Imrik guessed his clan symbol was engraved onto it. "What does that mean? I saw it on the floor below Isidar Mithrim."

"This is the symbol of my clan. We are the Ingietum, metalworkers and master smiths. The hammer and stars are inlaid into Tronjheim's floor because it is the personal crest of Korgan, our founder. One clan to rule, with twelve surrounding. King Hrothgar is Dûrgrimst Ingietum as well and has brought my house much glory, much honour."

They returned the plates to the cook and left the hall. As they walked to the door they passed a dwarf who stopped bowed low to Eragon and Imrik and said "Argetlam."

Eragon flushed with confusion where as Imrik merely bowed back to the dwarf. Eragon looked at Orik for help as the dwarf moved off again. "What did he say?"

Orik shrugged, looking embarrassed "It's an elven word that was used to refer to the Riders. It means 'silver hand.'" Imrik glanced down at his hands, remembering the strange silver scar he had received when he had touched Gwihir after landing in this world. "Do you wish to return to the dragonhold?"

"Is there somewhere I could bathe first? I don't know about you Imrik but I haven't been able to bathe for a while. Also, if possible, I'd like to replace my shirt. Is there somewhere I could work for one, for I don't have any money." Imrik nodded at this. He too would need a bath and a change of clothes. His travelling gear, although comfortable, was not intended for training in or for walking around a city.

"Do you seek to insult Hrothgar's hospitality, Imrik? And you, Eragon?" Demanded Orik. "As long as you are in Tronjheim, you won't have to buy a thing. You'll pay for it in other ways – Ajihad and Hrothgar will see to that. Come. I'll show you were to wash then fetch you both a new shirt."

Orik lead them down under Tronjheim, into tunnels that caused Eragon and Imrik to stoop, to a place where all the lanterns were red. "So the light doesn't blind you when you leave or enter a dark cavern," explained Orik.

They reached a bare room with a small door on the other side. "The pools are through there. Leave your clothes here. I'll have new ones waiting for you when you get out."

Imrik and Eragon thanked him and began to undress. Imrik saw that Eragon was indeed a boy, barely more than fifteen. Eragon was looking at Imrik as well. He was strong for an elf, lithe and deadly. Imrik had wrestled with Korhil, Captain of the Whit Lions for training. Although the Guardian beat him every time, it Made Imrik stronger and quicker than many of the other Prince.

They entered the room, which was pitch black, and inched forward until they found a pool. Imrik's eyes adjusted to see they were in a cavern with a ledge running the length of the room. Several other pools dotted the floor. Eragon waded in and Imrik saw that the pool was the same depth the whole was across. Imrik turned and took down a bar of soap and a brush and scrubbed himself of the dirt of battle. Eragon was doing similar. Imrik relaxed into the pool and let the stress of the world dissolve into it. His family name meant 'From the Sea' so he was always at home in the water.

After a while the emerged, dripping and found towels, fine linen shirts and breaches. The dried and dressed, the clothes fitting Imrik rather well, before walking out into the tunnel.

Orik was waiting for them, smoking his pipe. They climbed back to Tronjheim, Imrik stretching as they emerged into the corridors where he could stand again. They walked back to the edge of Tronjheim and Imrik called Gwihir with his mind. As the two dragon's left the dragonhold Eragon dazed at the peak of the city-mountain. "How do you communicate with people at the top?"

Orik grinned. "That's a problem we solved years ago. You didn't notice, but behind the open arches that line each level is a single, unbroken staircase that spirals around the walls of Tronjheim's central chamber. The stairs climb all the way to the dragonhold above Isidar Mithrim. We call it Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase. Running up or down isn't swift enough, nor convenient enough for casual use. Instead we use flashing lanterns to convey messages. There is another way too, though it is seldom used. When Vol Turin was constructed, a polished trough was cut next to it. The trough acts as a giant slide as high as the mountain."

Imrik saw Eragon's lips twitch into a smile, "Is it dangerous?" he asked. Imrik shook his head. Humans, what was it with them and going things that could kill you?

"Do not think of trying it. The slide was built for dwarves and is too narrow for a man. If you slipped out of it, you could be thrown onto the stairs and against the arches, perhaps even into empty space."

The dragon's landed a small distance away, their scales making it sound like an armoury accident had occurred. As Gwihir greeted Imrik, humans and dwarves trickled out of Tronjheim and gathered around them, murmuring quietly. Eragon appeared uneasy but Imrik strolled confidently to Gwihir's side. Orik pushed Eragon forward. "I'll meet you by this gate in the morning."

"How will I know when it's morning?" asked Eragon

"I'll send someone to wake you, now go!"

Eragon hurried through the crowd and leapt onto Saphira's back. Imrik climbed up onto of Gwihir. They were about to take off when an old woman grabbed Eragon's foot. Eragon looked down frightened. "What do you want?" the woman showed something to Eragon, but Imrik couldn't see because Saphira stood in his path.

"The child has no parents – there is no one to care for her but me, am I am weak. Bless her with your powers, Argetlam. Bless her for luck!"

Eragon looked at Orik for help but the dwarf watched with a guard expression. He swung to look at Imrik. Imrik merely shrugged but he let a little of the light of the Asur show, for the crowd was pushing closer. They went silent at the words of the woman, retreating from Imrik and Gwihir slightly. The woman stared at Eragon, "Bless her Argetlam, bless her."

Eragon was frozen, looking down at the woman, "Bless her Argetlam, bless her!"she insisted. Eragon considered for a moment more, then un-gloved his right hand and laid it against the babe's brow. "Atra gülai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse skölir frá rauthr." He slowly pulled his glove back on and said to the woman, "That is all I can do for her. If any words have power to forestall tragedy, it will be those."

"Thank you, Argetlam." The woman began to cover the child but Saphira swung her head around over the child. The woman grew ridged as Saphira brushed the infant with the tip of her snout, pulling away quickly. A gasp echoed from the crowd as a silver scar formed on the child's brow, similar to the one on Imrik's hand. The woman looked into Saphira's eyes, her body practically glowing with thanks.

Saphira turned her head and took flight, Gwihir not far behind. Eragon curled over Saphira's neck. They appeared to be in deep conversation, so Gwihir and Imrik circled up to fly above the city. They flew once around, taking in the sight of the shining mountain, then swooped low towards the dragonhold. Imrik saw the Star Sapphire, Isidar Mithrim, twinkling as the floor.

Gwihir landed with a thump, his claws scratching along the gem. Imrik looked down to see if they had caused any damage, but was surprised to see no mark at all on the large gem. Imrik slid off Gwihir and walked to the side to allow Saphira to land safely. He surveyed his surroundings as she came into, landing in much the same manner as Gwihir. The room was round, sixty feet tall and sixty feet across. The walls were lined with caves varying in size from ones barely big enough for a man, to others that could accommodate some of the smaller, but not less mighty, Star dragons. Rungs were set into the walls that allowed people to reach he higher caves. An massive archway led to a set of stairs, presumably Vol Turin.

Eragon had lain down of the Star Sapphire, trying to look through it. He got up as Saphira jumped about twenty feet into the air and glided to a medium sized cave about half way up.

"_Where is your cave, Gwihir? Next to Saphira's?" _asked Imrik in an innocent voice. The dragon blew smoke at him and jumped the opposite direction from Saphira, landing in a slightly bigger cave. Inside was a bed for Imrik and a large cushion for Gwihir, "_Better than laying under a volcano for a few centuries?" _asked Imrik.

"_Much more comfortable," _agreed the dragon, "_but I miss the warmth."_

"_Well we can't have everything," _ said Imrik as he lay on his bed, turning to a lantern with a shutter on it and pulling it closed. "_We will have to see what is expected of us. Whether we can remain independent and return home free once we have pulled down this Galbatorix."_

"_Yes we will," _Replied the dragon, shuffling himself to the side. Imrik looked around at him and followed his facial direction to the cave were Saphira slept he laughed again and rolled around in his bed, clutching his sides.

"_You are a love-sick puppy!" _he said to his dragon.

"_Goodnight Imrik." _Said Gwihir before turning his head from the mouth of the cave and facing the wall, closing his eyes. Imrik chuckled once more before drifting into his dreams.

**A/N: **** I wanted to include Angela's chapter but it soon became apparent that that wasn't going to happen. Imrik has to learn as much of the back ground Eragon, though I've tried the thin it down majorly, while still putting in the important things. Right Angela and Hrothgar will be in the next chapter (hopefully). Remember to Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**A/N:**** right then, third chapter and hopefully I can get to the good stuff soon! Also a bit of background for those non-hobby types out there. Please enjoy! Btw I am going to used bold text to represent high elven when it is used.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own IC or WFB**

Imrik woke again an hour after dawn. He was slightly disorientated, staring up at a cave roof, but then quickly recalled the last few days' events. He chuckled to himself at the thought of Gwihir's attraction to Saphira, before getting dressed and walking out of the cave. He looked over at Eragon and Saphira's cave, surprised to see a large cat sitting at the mouth of the cave, licking its paws. The cat turned and addressed him with his mind, "_Greeting elf. I am Solembum. My friend Angela has sent me to find Eragon and the other Rider, which must be you."_

"_Greetings Solembum," _said Imrik, feeling a little strange talking with a cat, "_If I may ask, do all cats have the power of such eloquent speech?"_

Solembum hissed and his eyes flashed red, "_I and a WERE-cat. We are far more intelligent and important than our common brethren."_

"_My apologies, I had not met one of your kind before. I am honoured by your speech." _Replied Imrik with a slight bow to Solembum, smirking. He swished his tail in annoyance.

"_Oh Angela will love you."_ With that Solembum withdrew from contact and turned back to a Eragon, who was now stirring slightly. The werecat stretched and jumped down to land on Isidar Mithrim with a thump. Eragon turned to Saphira then climbed down to Isidar Mithrim. Imrik turned to Gwihir who was now also awake.

"_I won't be long, my little puppy." _Said Imrik, smirking as he jumped out of the cave, landing lightly and rolling to lessen the impact. Behind him Gwihir growled at him before shaking his head and withdrawing back into the cave. Imrik smiled at Eragon who had just clambered down from his cave. The moment his feet touched the floor, the werecat strolled off between the archway at the end of the dragonhold. Eragon and Imrik ran after him, Imrik jogging so he didn't outdistance Eragon.

They emerged onto Vol Turin and ran down to the next level. They could see the entire central chamber from between the slender supporting arches. Each level was identical, getting progressively wider as it descended to the base. The Star Sapphire glittered brilliantly, casting its luminescence down to the lower levels of Tronjheim. To their right, a dusty corridor lead to the rest of the level, presumably living space. Solembum padded down the hall, flicking his tail the way only a cat can do. They chased the werecat along the passageways, Imrik memorising the way as they went. They rounded a corner to find the Solembum stop in front of a door and yowl. The door slid open and the werecat slid in, the door closing behind him.

They approached the door, Eragon perplexed, Imrik wary. He knew enough of this world to know that, in magic terms at least, he was virtually powerless. He cursed himself for a fool, not bringing his quiver, sword or spear. Eragon raised his hand to knock on the door but it slid open before his hand touched it, warm light spilling out. Imrik and Eragon hesitated, then walked in, shoulder to shoulder.

Inside was a two-room suite, decorated in a rather stifling way. Imrik had never been one for lots of decor, plants everywhere and carvings on wood. He much more preferred the bare beauty of arches and spires. The only carvings he could tolerate had to be stone and painted. All the odd objects that littered the floor made him feel a bit annoyed. A large four-poster bed was set aside in another room surrounded by even more plants. In the centre of the room, on a plush leather chair, sat a young looking woman with curly brown hair and a bright smile.

"What are you doing here?" blurted out Eragon. So they knew each other? Interesting.

The woman folded her hands on her lap, "Well, why don't you sit down on the floor and I'll tell you? I'd offer you a chair, but I'm sitting on the only one." Imrik smiled at this. He was liking this woman, she thought like an elf. "And may you care to introduce yourself, elf?" she asked, turning her bright eyes on him.

"I might," Imrik replied, amusement flickering in his eyes. The woman smiled.

"Oh, so you know my game do you?"

"Possibly ... Depends on how you came to own it."

"A game of riddles, actually. So do you wish to play?"

"I wish for many things, hardly any of them happen."

The woman smiled, dipped her head and held out her hand, "Angela," she said. Imrik grasped her hand in return.

"Imrik."

Eragon looked confused by the whole exchange, but settled down between two flasks of bubbling green potions. Imrik stood against one wall, smiling slightly. Angela looked at him with a similar smile and leaned towards Eragon, exclaiming loudly, "So, you _are _a Rider. I suspected as much, but I didn't know for certain until yesterday. I'm sure Solembum knew, but he never told me. I should have figured it out the moment you mentioned Brom. Saphira ... I like the name – fitting for a dragon."

"Brom's dead," Eragon said with an emotionless voice, "the Ra'zac killed him."

Angela appeared taken aback, twirling a lock of her hair like a child who has done wrong. "I'm sorry. I truly am."

Eragon smiled, but there was no warmth behind it, only bitter memories. "But not surprised, are you? You foretold his death, after all."

"I didn't know who's dead it would be," she said with a small shake of her head, "but no I'm not surprised. I met Brom once or twice. He didn't care for my 'frivolous' attitude to magic. It irritated him."

"In Teirm you laughed at his fate and said that it was something of a joke. Why?" said Eragon, frowning. A fortune teller? I wonder how she reads it? Thought Imrik.

"In retrospect, it was in rather bad taste, but I didn't know what would befall him. How do I put this? ... Brom was cursed in a way. It was his wyrd to fail at all his tasks except one, although through no fault of his own. He was chosen as a Rider, but his dragon was killed. He loved a woman, but it was affection that was her undoing. And he was chosen, I assume, to guard and train you, but in the end he failed at that as well. The only thing he succeeded at was killing Morzan, and a better dead he couldn't have done."

"Fate obviously had one plan for this man, Brom. He couldn't be a peacemaker, or a lover, or a trainer. He was a warrior, that much I can tell." Said Imrik quietly. Eragon nodded at him before turning back to Angela.

"Brom never mentioned a woman to me."

Angela shrugged. "I heard it from one who couldn't have lied. But enough of this talk! Life goes on, and we shouldn't trouble the dead with our worries." She took a pile of reeds from the floor and began plaiting them, ending the discussion.

Eragon hesitated then said, "All right. So why are you in Tronjheim instead of Teirm?"

"Ah, at last an interesting question," Angela said, still weaving, "After hearing Brom's name again during your visit, I sensed a return of the past in Alagaësia. People were whispering that the Empire was hunting a Rider. I knew then that the Varden's dragon egg must have hatched, so I closed my shop and set out to learn more."

"You knew about the egg?"

"Of course I did. I'm not an idiot. I've been around much longer than you would believe. Very little happens that I don't know about. You, Imrik, were one of them. I want to hear your story after Eragon, and you're not just telling me your name and leaving it at that! I know you are different but I'm not sure how, yet." She turned back to her weaving as Imrik smiled his consent. He wouldn't mind telling this woman, she seemed like a trustworthy human. "Anyway, I knew I had to get to the Varden as fast as possible. I've been here for nearly a month now, though I really don't care for this place – it's far to musty for my taste. And everyone in Farthen Dûr is _so _serious and noble. They're probably all doomed to die tragic deaths anyway." She sighed, a mocking expression on her face. "And the dwarves are just a superstitious bunch of ninnies content to hammer rocks all their lives. The only redeeming aspect of this place is all the mushrooms and fungi that grow in Farthen Dûr."

Imrik smiled at Angela's opinion of the dwarves. She would hate Ulthuan, decided Imrik. We don't even have interesting fungi. Eragon also smiled at the woman, "Then why stay?"

"Because I like to be wherever important events are occurring," said Angela, cocking her head like a cat. "Besides, if I had stayed in Teirm, Solembum would have left without me, and I enjoy his company. But tell me, what adventures have befallen you since last we talked? Then you, Imrik. I will hear your late too!"

For the next hour, Eragon talked of his adventures, much as he had done for Ajihad. Angela was a good listener, and only interrupted when Eragon mentioned Murtagh. "Murtagh!" she spluttered.

"He told me who he is. But let me finish my story before you make any judgements," he said nodding. Eragon continued his story. When he was finished, Angela leaned back in her chair, reeds falling to the floor, forgotten. Solembum jumped out of nowhere to land on her lap. He curled up and stared at Eragon with haughty eyes.

Angela petted him before saying, "Fascinating. Galbatorix allied with the Urgals, and Murtagh finally out in the open ... I'd warn you to be careful with Murtagh, but you're obviously aware of the danger. Now before we discuss this further, I am interested with you, Imrik. Tell me of your life."

Imrik smiled and began his tale. He started at the beginning of his race's history. How the Old Ones had left the elves to die at the hands of Chaos. He told of the heroisms of Aenarion and Caledor Dragontamer. He told of Malekith, the Betrayer, and the wars with the Dark Elves, the Dwarves and the Norse. He spoke of the great Chaos incursion of two hundred years ago and how Tyrion and Teclis had turned it back. He spoke of the increasing strife in recent years and the dragons being harder to wake. He talked of Caledor and each of the other elven kingdoms. He explained the monarchy and religious system of the High Elves, and how they are the only race that can truly forestall Chaos.

"The Slaan sit in their temples and do nothing, the Dwarves are just as bad, content to fight anyone for the sake of appeasing a grudge from two hundred years ago. The humans are to easily corrupted and will be easy prey for the daemons. And so to us, the High Elves, the mantel falls. Not even our woodland kin, the Wood Elves, will help us in our struggle." Imrik said with venom.

"And where do you come in?" asked Angela, her face looking disturbed but interested. Imrik smiled bitterly.

"I was born not long ago, I am one of the youngest princes in Ulthuan. Since I was able to walk, I have been walking the mountains around my home, the Dragonspines. Inside the caves beneath the mountains, the dragons slumber. Only a very powerful mage, or a very important prince from another kingdom may attempt to wake a dragon. Of course, any prince of Caledor may try the ritual and usually the dragons will wake for one of us rather than an outsider. Gwihir, my dragon, awoke for me nearly six months ago. He is also young in dragon years. He is honoured as a Sun dragon by my kin. The older dragons who fought with Aenarion are called Moon dragons and the dragons that were born even before then are known as Star dragons. They are so powerful and physically mighty, they could take on an army and win. As far as I know, there are only five Star dragons awake at this time. All awoke for a prince of Caledor."

"There are more dragons?" Angela asked quickly, Eragon looking incredulous.

"Yes but they are quite different from the dragons of this world. They cannot communicate with their minds. Those who ride dragons can understand their basic body language but apart from that, they don't communicate at all. Anyway, Gwihir awoke for me and we have been training and fighting the past few months, since he was strong enough to fly in the armour actually. Before then I was trained in the Spearmen regiments before learning the cavalry tactics of the Silver Helms. Once I had gained the rank of High Helm, I was moved to the Dragon Princes of Caledor, an elite order of knights purely from Caledor. They are the best cavalry in the world. I am quite a prominent figure in Caledor because of my age and how quickly I have risen through the ranks. Some even claim I am as skilled as Lord Tyrion but he is much more skilled in the arts of war then I. As for how I got here, we were in battle against the daemons when we were transported here. The rest you know. That is all I have to say." Imrik concluded with a small smile.

"Well," said Angela, looking blown away. Imrik smirked at her face and she quickly regained her composure. Eragon wasn't so quick. "A very interesting story! Elves with gods, evil elves and dragons! You should write a book about it!"

Imrik laughed whole heartedly. "If I survive to maturity, I promise to send you a copy."

"Good, now back to your story Eragon. You said something about a Shade, Durza. I think he's the greatest threat to the Varden right now, aside from Galbatorix. I _loathe_ Shades – they practice the most unholy magic, after necromancy. I'd like to dig his heart out with a dull hairpin and feed it to a pig!"

Eragon appeared startled by the venom in her voice and even Imrik was a bit surprised, though he didn't show it. "I don't understand," said Eragon, "Brom told me Shades were sorcerers who used spirits to accomplish their will, but why does that make them so evil?"

"It doesn't," said Angela, shaking her head, "Ordinary sorcerers are just that, ordinary – neither better nor worse than the rest of us. They use their magical strength to control spirits and the spirit's powers. Shades, however, relinquish that control in their search for greater power and allow their bodies to be controlled _by_ spirits. Unfortunately, only the evilest spirits seek to possess humans, and once ensconced they never leave. Such possession can happen by accident if a sorcerer summons a spirit stronger than himself. The problem is, once a Shade is created, it's terribly difficult to kill. As I'm sure you know, only two people, Laetri the Elf and Irnstad the Rider, ever survived that feat."

"I've heard the stories. Why are you living so high in Tronjheim? Isn't it inconvenient being isolated? And how did you get all this stuff up here?" Eragon said, gesturing to different aspects of the room.

Angela laughed wryly, "Truthfully? I'm in hiding. When I first came to Tronjheim, I had a few days of peace – until one of the guards who let me into Farthen Dûr blabbed about who I was. Then all the magic users here, though they barely rate the term, pestered me to join their secret group. Especially those drajl Twins who control it. Finally, I threatened to turn the lot of them into toads, excuse me, frogs, but when that didn't deter them, I sneaked up here in the middle of the night. It was less work than you might imagine, especially for one with my skills."

"Did you have to let the Twins into your mind before you were allowed into Farthen Dûr?" asked Eragon. Imrik saw a cold gleam in Angela's eyes and smirked knowing that this humble woman was, in fact, very dangerous when she wanted to be. "I was forced to let them sift through my memories."

"The Twins wouldn't dare probe me, for fear of what I might do to them, Oh, they'd love to, but they know the effort would leave them broken and gibbering nonsense. I've been coming here long before the Varden began examining people's minds ... and they're not about to start on me now."

Angela peered into the other room, "Well! This has been an enlightening talk, especially with you, Imrik, but I'm afraid you have to go now. My brew of mandrake root and newt's tongue is about to boil, and it needs attending. Do come back again when you have time. And _please_ don't tell anyone I'm here. I'd hate to have to move again. It would make me very ... _irritated._ And you don't want to see me irritated."

"No, we don't." Said Imrik playfully.

"We'll keep your secret." Said Eragon, rising.

Solembum jumped off Angela and she stood. "Good!" she exclaimed.

They said they're farewells and left, Solembum leading them back to the dragonhold before swishing his tail and sauntering away. On the way back Imrik asked Eragon to teach him the Ancient Language. It seemed that to use magic in this world, you needed to know this language, so Imrik thought it would be a very valuable addition to his arsenal. Eragon agreed and taught him a few of the basic words by the time they had reached the dragonhold.

A dwarf was awaiting them went they reached the dragonhold. He bowed to each of them, muttering, "Argetlam," he spoke with a thick accent, "Good. Awake. Knurla Orik awaits you both." He bowed again and scurried off. Saphira jumped out of her cave, Eragon's red sword in her claws. Gwihir jumped down to land on her right, Imrik's sword, Dragonfang, in his claws. Imrik smiled at the connection. "_It will be good to have this at my side once more."_ He said, taking the sword and buckling its blackwood sheath to his belt. Eragon had also buckled on his sword and was climbing onto Saphira's back. Imrik turned and leapt onto Gwihir's back, the dragon ruffling his wings as he prepared to take off.

As the two dragon flew out of Tronjheim, Imrik relayed his conversation with Angela to Gwihir. The dragon seemed intrigued by the woman and they decided to visit her when they got the chance. They spiralled down to Tronjheim's base, the sunlight allowing a small view of the edges of the crater.

As they landed by one of Tronjheim's gates, Orik ran out to greet them. "My king, Hrothgar, wishes to see you all. Dismount quickly. We must hurry."

Eragon and Imrik dismounted and trotted after the dwarf, Imrik forcing himself to a brisk walk as to not pull ahead. The two dragons walked one behind the other, following the Riders and Orik with ease. People stared and again Imrik looked each person in the eye, forcing them to look away. "Where are we meeting Hrothgar?" asked Eragon as they hurried down the arching corridor.

"In the throne room beneath the city. It will be a private audience as an act of otho – of 'faith.' You do not have to address him in any special manner, but speak respectfully. Hrothgar is quick to anger, but he is wise and sees keenly into the minds of men, so think carefully before you speak."

Once they entered the central chamber, they were lead down one of the descending passageways. They walked down the right hand staircase, which gently curved until you were facing the way you had come in. The other stairway merged with theirs to form a broad cascade of dimly lit steps that ended in two huge granite doors, a hundred feet away. A seven-pointed crown was carved across both doors.

Seven dwarves stood guard on each side of the door. They were richly dressed in jewelled belts, and held mattocks. As they approached, the dwarves pounded their mattock hafts against the floor, creating a deep boom. The doors opened inward.

The hall was long and dark, formed from a natural cave, with stalactites and stalagmites thicker than a man. the floor was brown and polished stone. At the far end, a black throne stood with a motionless figure seated upon it.

Orik bowed, "The king awaits you," he said to them. Imrik and Eragon exchanged glances before walking into the room, a hand on the sides of their dragons. The doors swung shut behind them. They were alone with the king.

Their footsteps echoed as they advanced down the hall. On each side of the room, statues of kings and queens rose strong and proud. They sat on thrones with names chiselled into the bases. They walked past forty one dead monarchs and walked past rows of empty alcoves that awaited further kings and queens. The room emanated power, the focal point the throne. It reminded Imrik slightly of the courts of the Phoenix King. Darker, colder and smaller yes, but it had the same feel of ageless time and ancient power.

The throne that the king sat on also emanated power. It was unadorned black marble, strong and solid, and cut with unbelievable precision. The dwarf sat on it looked ancient, grim and powerful. A golden helm, encrusted with rubies and diamonds sat upon his head in place of a crown. His eyes, half hidden beneath his cliff-like features, were deep-set and flinty. They looked piercing and intelligent. Imrik was mildly impressed by the dwarf's gaze. His long white beard spilled down his chest, over a hauberk of mail, before tucking into his belt. On his lap, a war hammer with the symbol of Orik's clan embossed on its head.

Eragon bowed awkwardly and knelt. Imrik executed a courtly bow but remained standing, his head dipped in respect. The king seemed to stir from a memory, "Rise Rider," he rumbled, "you need not pay tribute to me."

Eragon rose and stared at the king. The king held his gaze keenly, then said in the guttural tongue of his people, "Âz knurl deimi lanok. 'Beware, the rock changes' – an old dictum of ours ... and nowadays the rock changes very fast indeed." He fiddles with his war hammer, as if nervous. "I could not meet either of you earlier, as Ajihad did, because I was forced to deal with my enemies within the clans. They demand that I deny you, Eragon, sanctuary and expel you from Farthen Dûr. For you Elf, they wish me to find a way of making you leave, but more politely. We dwarves wouldn't have the strength to hold off the elves if they took offence at us casting you out into the rain. It has taken much work on my part to convince them otherwise."

"Thank you," said Eragon. Imrik nodded his head in agreement with the statement. He decided that he would hold his silence with this king. He would speak when the king addressed him directly. It may be vain and proud, but Imrik felt like he had to test this king. Maybe it was because of the similarity with the Phoenix King, who Imrik had argued with on their only meeting, that he felt this urge of competitiveness. He dismissed the thought but remained as he was. Eragon continued, "I didn't anticipate how much strife my arrival would cause."

The king nodded acceptance from Eragon and looked at Imrik with a piercing gaze. Imrik returned it with a level gaze of polite indifference. The king chuckled, "You wish to test me, Elf? Very well. Orik has told me of your ... difference from the elves of Alagaësia, but I mean to extend every hospitality to you. I don't want a war with the elves but you would do well to remember who sits on this throne."

Imrik grinned. These dwarves seemed like the king of beings he could get along with. Humans, far to sort lived. Other elves, he had only seen one and he had not been able to speak with her. The dwarves provided an amusing conversation yet they were not to be trifled with, which made it even more fun to test them. "Congratulations, King Hrothgar, you have passed my test. You are not what I thought you were."

Hrothgar chuckled again and turned to Eragon, sizing his up with his flinty, piercing eyes. He raise a gnarled hand and pointed down the room. "See there, Rider Eragon, and you Rider Imrik, where my predecessors sit upon their graven thrones. One and forty they are, with I the forty-second. When I pass from this world into the care of the gods, my hírna will be added to their ranks. The first statue is the likeness of my ancestor, Korgan, who forged this mace, Volund. For eight millennia – since the dawn of our race – dwarves have ruled under Farthen Dûr. We are the bones of this land, older than both the fair elves and the savage dragons." Both dragons shifted at this. Gwihir looked intently at the king, hoping, Imrik could feel, for more information of the dragons of this world.

Hrothgar leaned forward, his voice like a drum in a cave, deep and powerful, "I am old human – even by our reckoning and maybe yours too, Elf – old enough to have seen the Riders in all their fleeting glory, old enough to have spoken with their last leader, Vrael, who paid tribute to me within these very walls. Few are still alive who can claim that much. I remember the Riders and how the meddled in our affairs. I also remember the peace they kept that made it possible to walk unharmed from Tronjheim to Narda.

"And now you stand before me – a lost tradition revived. Tell me, and speak truly in this, why have you come to Farthen Dûr? I know of the events that made you flee the Empire, but what is your intent now? And you, Elf, what are you doing here?"

"I have decided that, in exchange for helping me find a way back to Ulthuan, I will fight alongside the Varden. If Eragon also joins the Varden then I will fight beside him. I mean to return home and nothing will stop me from achieving that goal." Imrik said, holding his head high in defiance of the odds, letting the light of the Asur glow on his skin slightly. Hrothgar nodded as if this was something he could understand and turned to Eragon.

"For now," he said, "Saphira and I merely wish to recuperate in Tronjheim. We are not here to cause trouble, only to find sanctuary from the dangers we've faced for many months. Ajihad may send us to the elves, but until he does, we have no wish to leave."

Hrothgar questioned Eragon on his motives for a little while, Eragon answering, allowing Imrik to gain a better understanding of his character. He was still coming to grips with a new life, humble and responsible. He also seemed to have a desire for revenge that burned deep within him. He seemed loyal and true, almost to a fault. Imrik was mildly surprised and impressed to find a human with similar values to an elf such as himself. Imrik brought himself back to the conversation, realising he had let his mind wonder again.

A shadow lay on Hrothgar's face as he looked at Eragon's sword. "I see that you carry an enemy's sword; I was told of this, and that you travel with a son of the Forsworn. It does not please me to see this weapon." He reached out a hand. "I would like to examine it."

Eragon drew the red blade and presented it to the king, hilt first. Imrik looked on the sword as Hrothgar looked over the blade. It was leaf-bladed, like his own, yet this sword had a feeling of evil and deceit around it. It was the weapon of a murderer. Its pommel was a polished ruby that seemed to contain the blood of the innocents slain with the sword. The kind tested the point on his palm, then said, "A masterfully forged blade. The elves rarely choose to make swords – they prefer bows and spears – but when they do, the results are unmatched. This is an ill-fated blade; I am not glad to see it within my realm. But carry it if you will; perhaps it's luck has changed." He returned the sword to Eragon, and he sheathed it quickly. "Has my nephew proved helpful during your time here?"

Imrik smiled as he realised who Hrothgar must be talking about. Eragon looked clueless. "Who?" he said.

Hrothgar looked surprised. "Orik, my youngest sister's son. He's been serving under Ajihad to show my support for the Varden. It seems he has been returned to my command, however. I was gratified to hear you defended him with your words."

Imrik saw this was Hrothgar putting his trust into them. He smiled as Eragon spoke what he was thinking. "We couldn't ask for a better guide."

"That is good," said the king. His chest seemed to swell slightly. "Unfortunately, I cannot speak with you much longer. My advisors wait for me, as there are matters I must deal with. I will say this, though: If you wish the support of the dwarves within my realm, you must first prove yourself to them. We have long memories and do not rush to hasty decisions. Words will decide nothing, only deeds."

"I'll keep that in mind." Replied Eragon, bowing. Imrik nodded and smiled, also bowing.

Hrothgar nodded regally, "You may go, then."

They turned and headed out of the hall to where Orik was waiting for them. He looked anxious as he fell in with them, climbing the stairs back to the main chamber.

"Did all go well? Were you received favourably?"

"I think so," replied Eragon, looking thoughtful, "But your king is cautious."

"That is how he has survived this long."

"_He seems a very strong character. He respects us but does not faun over us. I like him. I would not like to fight him." _Said Gwihir in Imrik's mind. Imrik chuckled at the dragons reasoning, agreeing completely, although he would have worded it slightly more eloquently.

As they emerged into the centre of Tronjheim, with Isidar Mithrim sparkling above them, Orik turned and said, "Your blessing yesterday has stirred up the Varden like an overturned beehive. The child Saphira touched has been hailed as a future hero. She and her guardian have been quartered in the finest rooms. Everyone is talking about your 'miracle.' All the human mothers seem intent on finding one of you, more Eragon than you, Imrik, and getting the same for their children."

Eragon appeared alarmed and Imrik couldn't blame him. He had frozen facing one woman, what would an army of them do to him? As for Imrik, he could easily evade a few human women. He was much faster than any human, and he could always go to the dragonhold. Overall, he wasn't that worried about it. "What should we do?" asked Eragon, looking around like a fugitive.

"Aside from taking back your actions?" said Orik dryly. Imrik chuckled internally at the dwarf's humour. "Stay out of sight as much as possible. Everyone will be kept out of the dragonhold, so you won't be bothered there."

Imrik decided to see what Eragon decided to do, then accompany him. He wanted to spend some time with the two. They seemed to be his only two friends in this strange new world. And he had a feeling he'd need all the friends he could get.

"_What about you? Will you accompany us or go back to the dragonhold?" _he asked Gwihir. The dragon took a while before answering.

"_I will return with Saphira to the dragonhold. She wishes to talk more with the werecat and, I will admit, I am interested in learning more about this world."_

"_Or you are just trying to get on her good side." _Suggested Imrik with a smirk. Gwihir rolled his eyes and padded off down one of the central corridors, Saphira close behind him. Eragon explained to Orik what was happening and Imrik explained where Gwihir was going too. Then Eragon voiced a typical human thing, "I'd like some breakfast. And then I'd like to see more of Tronjheim; it's such an incredible place. I don't want to go to the training grounds until tomorrow, as I'm not fully recovered."

"In which case," said Orik nodding, "would you like to visit Tronjheim's library? It's quite old and contains many scrolls of great value. You might find it interesting to read a history of Alagaësia that hasn't been tainted by Galbatorix's hand."

"Yes, let's do that." Said Eragon

"Will you teach me to read your writing? I may be able to speak your tongue, through some phenomenon, but I doubt I can read your lettering." Said Imrik, not embarrassed but intrigued. He enjoyed reading about the battles of history and the rise and fall of empires and kings.

"Of course, Rider Imrik. I am sure Rider Eragon can teach you the human tongue." Replied Orik kindly.

"Thank you." Said Imrik, inclining his head.

They headed off to breakfast before Orik lead them through the maze of tunnels until they reached a carved arch, signalling the library. Eragon steeped through it reverently. Imrik was impressed by the size of the room. He thought that he would never meet the equal of even one of the many libraries in the White Tower, yet here it was. The whole place seemed to have been hollowed out of solid stone, the shelves and tables blended seamlessly with the floor. Scrolls and books covered the walls, the upper levels reach by catwalks joined to three twisting staircases.

"This is the true legacy of our race," said Orik, "Here resides the writings of our greatest kings and scholars, from antiquity to the present. Also recorded are the songs and stories composed by our artisans. This library may be our most precious possession. It isn't all our work, though – there are human writings here as well. Your, Rider Eragon, is a short-lived – but prolific – race. We have little or nothing of the elves'. They guard their secrets jealously."

"How long may we stay?" asked Eragon, awestruck. He moved towards the shelves. Imrik moved with him.

"As long as you want. Come to me if you have any questions. Rider Imrik, if you wish to learn the human script, follow Eragon. He will teach you."

They spent the next few hours with Eragon teaching Imrik the human spelling and grammar. Imrik learnt quickly and began to browse through the volumes. He picked those who were about battles, warfare and tactics, eager to find if there were any strategies that could be employed by the armies of Ulthuan when he returned. He read a section of a report on how the dwarves had used tunnels to get behind their foes, crushing them between a hammer and an anvil. He learned of how the dwarves often drew larger armies into the passes of the mountains before cutting off the escape route and firing volleys of arrows into the ranks of the foe.

As he was reading through a copy of '_Tactics of the Riders: Fighting from dragonback.' _He heard footsteps approaching the shelves. They had the same pronounced thump, the same swish of cloth on stone, as the Twins had had in the corridor on the way to Tronjheim. Imrik quickly checked his mental defences and set off to find Eragon. He rounded a corner to see the Twins, side by side, facing Eragon. They bowed, making the movement insolent and derisive.

"We have been searching for you." One of them said, his tone neutral, "And the other Rider."

"What for?" asked Eragon with a glance at Imrik which said _Help me! _Imrik smirked and moved forward silently

"Ever since you meeting with Ajihad, we have wanted to ... apologise for our actions." The sounded mocking, yet it was concealed under a thin veneer of politeness. "We have come to pay homage to you." Eragon flushed and Imrik clapped his hands onto the shoulders of the Twins. They jumped and turned their eyes wild, words forming on their lips.

"Well, that is expected of you, Twins. We are, after all, Riders and you are well ... you." Imrik said in a patronising tone, as if he was talking to a small child who didn't quite understand what was being said to him. The Twins flushed a dark red, but recovered and bowed again.

"We are honoured that you would deem us worthy of your words, mighty _Rider_." They said the last part like it was the worst insult they could think of. Imrik smirked, for he could see the fear in their eyes. It was hidden well, but not invisible.

"Is that all? I wish to return to reading and I am quite sure Eragon does as well. Speak now, or hold your peace, _human_." Imrik replied in the same tone. He had played the game of the courts and he knew it well. He walked through the gap between the Twins to stand beside Eragon. The Twins turned with him, their eyes burning with rage at Imrik's words.

"Actually, there is something else. We have a request to make of the might Riders. The few magic users who live in Tronjheim have formed a group. We call ourselves Du Vrangr Gata, or the – "

"The Wandering Path, I know," Interrupted Eragon. Imrik smiled with false pity at the Twins, as if to say _we are better than you, we don't need your help. Though you need ours_. The Twins got the message and their faces contorted in rage, but only for a second, before they set their faces with blank, neutral expressions.

"Your knowledge of the ancient language is impressive," said the Twins smoothly. "As we were saying, Du Vrangr Gata has heard of your mighty feats, and we have come to extend an invitation of membership. We would be honoured to have one of your stature as a member. And I suspect that we might be able to assist you as well." They looked pointedly at Imrik, glares fixed on his eyes. Imrik put on a bored expression and began to play idly with his sword hilt.

"How?" said Eragon cautiously.

The other Twin spoke. "The two of us have garnered much experience in magical matters. We could guide you ... show you spells we've discovered and teach you word of power. Nothing would gladden us more than if we could assist, in some small way, your path to glory. No repayment would be necessary, though if you saw fit to share some scraps of your own knowledge, we would be satisfied."

Imrik sneered and Eragon's face hardened. "Do you take us for half-wits?" asked Eragon angrily, abandoning any attempt at formality. "I won't apprentice myself to you so you can learn the words Brom taught me! It must have angered you when you couldn't steal them from m mind."

"Leave now, human fools, and I might let you live." Imrik said, his voice as cold as ice. His hand toyed with his sword hilt and the Twins eyed him nervously before their sneers returned.

"We will expect and answer tomorrow. And remember, _boy, _we will be examining you. We can make that most unpleasant if your answer is the wrong one." With one last glare at Imrik, the Twins turned in unison and marched off. Imrik turned to Eragon.

"We are not joining them, no matter what torture they put you through. If they try to invade your mind, join it with Saphira's and I shall joins Gwihir's and my own with yours. Together, we could easily overpower to foolish humans. They are merely conjurers of cheep tricks and mind games."

Eragon nodded and they set off to find Orik. They found the dwarf sitting on a bench, polishing his hand axe. "We'd like to return to the dragonhold." He said to the dwarf.

The dwarf slung his axe through a loop in his belt and escorted the two back to the gate where the dragons awaited them. People had gathered around them but Gwihir stood behind Saphira protectively. Imrik smirked as he swung himself into the saddle, ignoring the gaping humans and grumbling dwarves.

"_How fairs the day, my puppy?" _he asked in a teasing tone. Gwihir shook his head and took off, ignoring the chuckling elf. When they landed Eragon dismounted and turned to Imrik, who had also done so.

"I'm going to talk to Angela again. To you want to come?" he asked.

Imrik considered for a while before answering. He would like to talk to the woman again but he decided against it. He would read instead. He hadn't had time to read the book he kept in his saddlebags for ages and now he had the perfect chance. "Nay, you go on. I think I will read a book in my native language. Your runes are interesting but not as nice to read as my home language. Good luck, my friend."

Eragon nodded and left. Imrik climbed up to Gwihir's cave, retrieved the book and lay down on his bed to read. After about half an hour, a young female human, who bore great resemblance to Ajihad, entered the hold and looked at Saphira's cave, then at Gwihir's. Saphira snaked her head out and Imrik stepped to the mouth of the cave.

"Greetings human. How may we help you?" he addressed her kindly, for she held herself with an air of command. She was obviously not some commoner come to gape and stare.

She curtsied before answering. "Excuse me, Rider Imrik. I was looking for Rider Eragon," she said as Eragon entered silently behind her, an amused expression on his face as he folded his arms. "Could you please tell me where he is?" Imrik smirked.

"I am here." Answered Eragon. The woman turned, her wine red dress swirling around her figure, her hands flying to a jewelled dagger at her waist. She recovered herself and curtsied.

"I am Nasuada," she said, her voice light.

Eragon inclined his head. "You obviously know me, but what do you want Nasuada?"

Imrik dropped down to the floor, landing with a light _thump_, before strolling to Eragon's side, turning to face Nasuada.

She smiled at them, "My father, Ajihad, sent me here with a message. Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes, please." Answered Imrik, gracing Nasuada with a smile. A blush crept up her cheek and Imrik smiled slightly.

She tossed her hair and replied, "He is pleased that you are doing well, but he cautions you against actions like your benediction yesterday. They create more problems than they solve. Also, he urges you to proceed with the testing as soon as possible – he needs to know how capable you both are before he talks with the elves."

"Did you climb all the way up here just to tell us that?" asked Eragon. Imrik's thoughts when to Vol Turin. Somehow, he couldn't see this woman climbing all those stairs. As if in answer to this thought, she shook her head before answering.

"I used the pulley system that transports goods to the upper levels. We could have sent the message with signals, but I decided to bring it myself and meet you both in person."

"Would you like to sit down?" asked Eragon, motioning to Saphira's cave.

Nasuada laughed lightly. "No, I am expected elsewhere. You should also know, my father decreed that you may visit Murtagh, if you wish." She turned sombre and Imrik saw pity enter those large, almond-shaped eyes. "I met Murtagh earlier ... He's anxious to speak with you, Rider Eragon. He seemed lonely; you should visit him." She gave them directions to Murtagh's cell.

Eragon thanked her and them asked, "What about Arya? Is she better? Can I see her? Orik wasn't able to tell us much."

She smiled mischievously. "Arya is recovering swiftly, as all elves do. No one is allowed to see her except my father, Hrothgar, and the healers. They have spent much time with her, learning all that occurred during her imprisonment." Her eyes swept over Saphira, then to Gwihir – who had come to the mouth of his cave to watch the proceedings. "I must go now. Is there anything you would have me to convey to Ajihad on your behalf?"

"No, except a desire to visit Arya. And give him my thanks for the hospitality he's shown us. Imrik?" he turned to Imrik as he finished his sentence.

"I wish only to be able to see that stars before tomorrow. Is there someone who can guide me to a place where I can see them? Also express my gratitude also for your father's generosity."

"I will take your words directly to him. Farewell, Riders, I hope we meet again." He eyes lingered on Imrik for a small amount of time before she curtsied and left, shaking herself subtly.

Imrik shook his head and turned to see Solembum curled at the base of Saphira's neck, purring slightly. The dragon and the were-cat stared at them impudently, as if to say 'what?' Eragon shook his head and laughed. Imrik turned to Gwihir and said in High Elven, "**Watch out, my puppy! You have competition!**"

Eragon turned and looked at him quizzically as Gwihir growled his annoyance and retreated into the cave. "Just a little teasing." Said Imrik in response to Eragon's unasked question. Eragon nodded his head with a smile and turned back to the were-cat, climbing the rungs to the cave. Imrik hopped up to stand next to Gwihir's tail. The dragon flicked it at him, causing Imrik to duck with the speed only the High Elves could manage, before slapping the cool, hard scales and climbing into his bed, taking up his book and beginning to read. About an hour later, a dwarf arrived to lead him outside. He stood in the bracing wind, on a high ledge on the mountainside, and stared at the tapestry of lights before him. So different from his home. He felt like he could stand there for eternity, staring at the stars with the wind in his hair. He brought himself from his thoughts and followed his guide back to the dragonhold, feeling slightly homesick.

As Imrik awoke on his third day in Tronjheim, he began to feel restless. If he had been sent here purely for the amusement of the Daemon, then why had he not died? Unless ... he was here by the will of the gods? It seemed highly probable, so much so that Imrik decided to pray tonight for enlightenment from Asuryan about his mission in this strange, far away land.

Leaping down to the floor of the dragonhold fully clothed and armed with his bow, sword and spear, he felt eager to get down to the training ground. Eragon had also awoken so they flew down to one of Tronjheim's gates, leisurely gliding towards the small figure of Orik. Eragon asked him about Nasuada.

"An unusual girl," he said, eying Eragon's sword with a disapproving look. "She's utterly devoted to her father and spends all her time helping him. I think she does more for Ajihad than he knows – there have been times when she's manoeuvred his enemies without ever revealing her part in it."

"Who is her mother?" asked Eragon politely.

"That I don't know. Ajihad was alone when he brought Nasuada to Farthen Dûr as a newborn child. He's never said where he and Nasuada came from."

"A shame that a child should not know their mother, though not unheard of in Ulthuan." Said Imrik with a shake of his head.

"What? I thought the elves knew magic that could help with giving birth?" replied Orik with raised eyebrows.

"Aye, that we do. But when war threatens, all our citizens over eighteen fight. Women, men, children, all must fight to defend our home. Some never return from the battle field. That is the way of our lives." Imrik said with a far-away look in his eyes, staring at the hole in the top of Farthen Dûr

Orik nodded as if understanding and Eragon seemed to sympathise with the statement. He turned to the dwarf.

"I'm restless. It'll be good to use my muscles. Where should I go for this 'testing' of Ajihad's?"

Orik pointed out into Farthen Dûr. "The training field is half a mile from Tronjheim, though you can't see it from here because it's behind the city-mountain. It's a large area where both dwarves and humans practice."

"_I want to see you train. Well, if you call beating humans and dwarves to pulp training." _Said Gwihir. Imrik relayed this to Orik as Eragon did the same for Saphira. Orik tried to resist but a growl from both dragons was enough to convince him otherwise.

As they approached the field, the sounds of metal clashing and arrows thumping into targets filled the air, perforated with the cries of men and grunts of dwarves.

The main area was filled with formations of men with poleaxes and shields, struggling to hold formation while in mock battle. Around them, hundreds of warriors drilled with a variety of weapons. Imrik saw swords, maces, spears, flails and even pitchforks. He shook his head. These are no soldiers. Their so-called regimental discipline was a far cry from even the most green of elven boys. Each warrior in an eleven phalanx knew his or her place and held together as a unit, forming an unbreakable wall of shields and spears. If Imrik got the chance, he would train these men himself.

As it was, a burly man walked up to them as they surveyed the field. He was bearded, and was covered, head and shoulders, with mail. The rest of him was covered in ox-hide armour still with the hair on. Across his back was hung a great sword, like those used by the men of Albion. This man was dressed in their crude fashion as well, though Imrik didn't doubt his effectiveness on the battlefield. He ran an evaluative eye over the new-comers before addressing Orik, "Knurla Orik. You've been gone too long. There's nobody left for me to spar with."

Orik smiled. "Oeí, that's because you bruise everyone from head to toe with your monster sword."

"Everyone except you," he corrected.

"That's because I'm faster than a giant like you."

The man looked at Eragon and Imrik again. "I'm Fredric. I've been told to find out what you can do. How strong are you both?"

"Strong enough," answered Eragon, "I have to be in order to fight with magic."

"I may not be as strong as you, human, but I will be more than your match." Said Imrik smirking. He had taken down men taller than this before, he could do it again.

Fredric raised an eyebrow at him. "That sounds like a challenge, elf. I hope you can follow it through. As for you, Eragon, magic has no place in what we do here. Unless you've served in an army, I doubt any fights you've been in lasted more than a few minutes. What we're concerned about is how you'll be able to hold up in a battle that may drag on for hours, or even weeks if it's siege. Do you know how to use any weapons besides that sword and bow?"

"Only my fists." Replied Eragon after a moment's thought.

"Good answer! And you, Rider Imrik?" said Fredric with a short laugh.

"I can handle most weapons competently but I do despise the morning star and the mace. They are crude and ill fated weapons." Replied Imrik with a smile.

Fredric smiled and began to reply but cut off abruptly. Imrik and Eragon turned. Orik grumbled something and Fredric glared. "I thought I told you two to stay away from the training area," he said, taking a threatening step towards the frail bald men.

The Twins looked arrogantly up at him. "We were ordered by Ajihad to test Eragon's and Imrik's proficiency in magic – _before_ you exhaust him banging on pieces of metal."

"Why can't someone else test them?" asked Fredric, glowering at the Twins. Imrik help his dislike in check and put on a blank expression.

"No one else is powerful enough," sniffed the Twins with a disdainful glance at Imrik. He pretended not to notice and was rewarded with a glare from the right hand Twin. Saphira and Gwihir growled deeply, streams of smoke issuing from their nostrils. The Twins ignored them. "Come with us."

Eragon and Imrik exchanged glances and shrugged. Imrik turned to Fredric. "I'll be back for that match." He said with a small smile before walking away with Eragon, Saphira and Gwihir in tow.

"You answer, Riders?" the Twins asked as they halted a short distance from the training ground, though still in earshot of Orik and Fredric.

"When I grow a beard and Malekith dances with the Everqueen." Replied Imrik with venom. "We shall not join your little club."

The Twins turned and sharp lines appeared at the corners of their mouths. Bowing at the waist, they drew a pentagram on the ground. They then stepped into the middle of it. "You shall complete the tasks we assign you .. that is all."

"_If need arises," _said Imrik to Gwihir, "_Ask Saphira if she and Eragon would mind helping us. We are not as proficient at magic as they are." _Gwihir nodded his consent and they joined minds for the tasks.

One of the Twins drew a rock the size of a fist from his robes and placed it on the ground. The other Twins did the same. "Raise the rock in front of you to eye level." They said.

"_Easy enough" _commented Gwihir. Imrik spoke in a whisper to annoy the Twins. He had figured out their little game. They were trying to learn the words Eragon and he knew.

"Stenr reisa." The rock wobbled to waist height before he encountered resistance. He looked into the eyes of the Twin in front of him and glared. Gwihir added his strength and the rock shot to eye level.

Eragon, it seemed, had not yet figured out the Twins' intention. He said the same words only at a normal voice. He too encountered resistance but prevailed in the end.

"Very ... good." Hissed the Twins. Fredric looked unnerved by the magic. "Now move the stone in a circle." Again Imrik muttered the words under his breath, shoving aside the Twin's attempts to stop him. The tests continued to get harder and harder as they went on. Eragon had realised what the Twins' were up to and had started muttering simple words like Imrik.

After about an hour, Eragon looked tired, but determined. Imrik too was feeling the effects of the magic but he wouldn't allow himself to break before Eragon, let alone the Twins. The tests varied from manipulating water to scrying, to freezing items and healing wounds.

Finally the Twins seemed to run out of ideas. They help up their hands and said, "There is only one thing left to do. It is simple enough – any competent user of magic should find this easy." One of them removed a silver ring and placed it in Eragon's hand. "Summon the essence of silver."

"_We cannot do this. Not even Eragon knows. That means that either they know and know we don't ... or they don't know and think we do!" _Imrik said to Gwihir. The dragon relayed this information to Eragon and Saphira. Eragon glanced at him and shrugged. He moved his mouth as if to speak before a voice cried out.

"Stop!"

The voice was musical, clear and flowing. Imrik had never heard that voice before but he knew instantly that there was only one person in the whole of Farthen Dûr who it could belong to. Arya.

Imrik turned to survey her, lowering his head so his hair covered his ears and his face. He saw her standing there, a leather band restraining her voluminous black hair, which tumbled down her back like a waterfall of midnight. She had a slender sword strapped to her hip and a bow on her back. She was clothed in plain black leather that hugged her shapely frame. She held herself high, like all elves, but she seemed to have an air of royalty. She was tall, the same height as Imrik, though he could see she was much older than him. She seemed relaxed but anger burned behind her emerald eyes. With a small start, Imrik realised how much she resembled him. The dark hair, green eyes, tall lithe frame. And the air of royalty ... he would have to question her soon.

She approached the Twins, who had turned white with fear. Her tread was silent and spoke of deadliness and power. In menacing tones she spoke to the Twins, "Shame! Shame to ask him what only a master can do. Shame that you should use such methods. Shame that you told Ajihad you didn't know Eragon's abilities. He is competent. Now leave!" she seemed not to see Imrik. She frowned at the Twins, her slanted eyebrows met like thunderbolts. She pointed at the ring in Eragon's hand. "Arget!" she spoke in a voice like a thunderclap.

The silver shimmered, and a ghostly image of the ring materialised next to it. The two were identical except the apparition seemed purer and glowed with heat. At the sight of it, the Twins' eyes grew large and they fled, robes flapping behind them. The apparition vanished, leaving the ring in Eragon's hand. Orik and Fredric were on their feet, eyeing Arya warily. Saphira was crouched, ready for action.

Arya surveyed them, her eyes resting on Eragon before flitting to Imrik. Her hand fell to her sword. "**Well met, friend.**" Said Imrik bowing.

"Rise human and speak. Who are you?" she asked coldly. Imrik smirked form his bowed position. He slowly raised his head, threw back his hair and stared into Arya's eyes. He drew himself up and let enough of the Light of the Asur show to prove his next statement.

"I will disregard the comment about being human in favour of telling you my name. I am Imrik Gwindorian, of Caledor in southern Ulthuan. I am of the High Elves, the Asur, the children of Ulthuan and blessed of Asuryan." He smirked at the half second of confusion and bewilderment that passed over Arya's face before she bowed.

"I am sorry for not recognising you for what you are, Imrik Shur'tugal, though I have not seen any other elves in Farthen Dûr. And from your introduction, it seems you are not of my race either. But we can discuss this later. What matters now is you training." And with that she turned and strode toward the heart of the training field. All work stopped in awe of her. Imrik chuckled. What were they going to do when the two of them sparred?

Eragon followed as if in a dream, Imrik keeping close behind him though of his own accord. A large circle formed around Arya. Looking first at Eragon, then at Imrik, she proclaimed, "I claim the right of trail by arms. Draw your sword."

Saphira nudged Eragon forward. He seemed uncomfortable as he drew his red blade. Arya drew her sword with her left hand. Interesting, this will make her a difficult opponent. The two combatants held their swords down by their sides for a moment before Eragon started to move cautiously. Arya leapt forward, fast but slower than him, noted Imrik, and stuck at Eragon's ribs. He defected the blow but she batted his sword away like it was a stick. _Stronger than me though_, Imrik thought, _not good._ He found himself watching her strategy and form more closely as she blocked every stroke from Eragon. It seemed the boy was trying very hard to be inventive and unpredictable, but Arya was still one step ahead. Their duel ended as Eragon lunged forward only to have Arya neatly sidestep and swing her sword up to his collarbone. He froze at the touch of her sword.

Saphira bugled the end and the warriors cheered. Arya lowered her sword and said to Eragon, "You have passed." Eragon walked back to them as if in a daze. Fredric began to congratulate him as Imrik took off his quiver and sword belt, swinging his spear around once and advanced on the centre of the arena. The cheering died abruptly as the warriors took in the new challenger.

Imrik slid straight into his defensive stance, left hand in front of him and spear held behind him in his right. Arya slid into a crouch as well and raised her sword. A moment of silence. She lunged forward, the sword aimed to catch him in the mid chest. Imrik stuck out with his spear, letting the shaft slide through his finger and slam into the flat of Arya's sword, before leaping back and preparing for her next strike. She seemed unperturbed by his deflection and came at him like a whirlwind. His speed kept him in the fight. Every time she swept at him, she found the spear blocking her, but only for a moment. Imrik knew that if she trapped him in a lock, he would lose. So he kept deflecting her blows, looking for holes in her defence. They circled each other before Imrik had an idea. Swinging his spear around so the but for facing forward, he charged Arya. She ran to meet him. She swung low, excepting him to jump it and swing at her chest. Imrik did jump, but not how she excepted.

He jumped left and forward, striking down at Arya's chest as he passed her with the butt of his spear. He shaft slipped behind her guard and caught her square in the chest. She stumbled back and Imrik swiped her legs out from under her, angling his spear head openhandedly at her neck.

Silence. Arya's face was a mixture of shock and awe, quickly hidden behind a small smile. Gwihir roared his pleasure and the warriors around them erupted in noise. Imrik offered Arya his free hand and helped her to her feet. "You have passed, Imrik Gwindorian. But this is far from over. I mean to beat you when I have recovered my full strength." She said with a smirk.

Imrik smirked back, "As you wish, my Lady." He turned and walked back to Eragon, Orik and Fredric. They were ecstatic with praise and Imrik returned it in kind to Eragon, complementing him on how well he held up against Arya. He seemed subdued though. Imrik looked towards Arya to see her motion to Eragon to a small knoll not far from the practise field. Imrik questioned her with a look and she shook her head ever so slightly. He understood. She need to talk to Eragon alone. He turned to Fredric.

"Now, sir! I do believe I owe you a match. Unless you wish to back down of course" he added in a slightly mocking voice. With a few grumbles, Fredric drew his great sword and stepped into the arena with Imrik. Orik was smiling happily.

"Good luck, Fredric!" he called chuckling, "You'll need it against this one!"

**A/N: Again sooooo sorry I haven't updated in so long I just lost the will. This chapter will herald a new beginning with me (hopefully) where I can update more often. Thanks for reading. Remember to R&R!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

**A/N****: Right then, forth chapter. Mainly going to be Arya and Imrik interacting before the pre battle stuffs and quite possibly the battle itself. I don't know, I'll decide while I'm writing. :P**

**High elven = bold script**

**Disclaimer: I don't own WFB or IC.**

Imrik sighed as he walked towards the gate of Tronjheim. He was slightly tired after beating Fredric and a few hardened warriors in training. He had also managed to get hold of one of the commanders that training the soldiers in discipline. After an hour's lesson from Imrik, they had become more than a rabble that could form ranks, but a cohesive fighting unit. Imrik allowed himself a proud smile. His efforts would, hopefully, not go to waste.

As he approached the gate, he saw Arya walking back towards the training fields. Altering his course, he strolled up to her, Gwihir in tow.

"Greetings Arya! Are you returning to the training field?" he asked, politely inquisitive.

"Greetings Imrik. Why do you address me in the tongue of men?" she replied, expressionless, tilting her head to one side. "But to answer your question, yes, I am returning. I wish to see what kind of discipline the Varden have developed in my absence."

"Ah, you assume that we speak the same language. Have you forgotten that we are of different races?" Replied Imrik with a twinkle in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Surprise flitted across Arya's graceful features before her mask encased her face once again.

"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

Imrik laughed. "I am an elf, but not of your race, as I have said before. I am of the Asur, the children of Ulthuan. I was sent here by a daemon's vengeful hand but luckily I have landed here." He smiled mischievously. "So, Arya. Tell me of your race."

She looked at him suspiciously before answering. "My race came to Alagaësia across the sea. When we first arrived, we were little better than men. We were not long lived, we were similar in looks and were just as ignorant as men are now. Once, an elf hunted down a dragon like you would any other wild beast. The dragons, angered by this, made war upon the elves. We nearly destroyed each other, and would have done, if not for an elf name Eragon finding a dragon egg. Eragon raised this dragon and together they ended the war and forged a pact between the two races. An so the dragon Riders were born. Our race became as we are today, the Fair Folk. Strong, quick, wise and beautiful, the dragons did it all."

She looked at Imrik, as if trying to judge his reaction to her tale. Imrik was intrigued and confused. He had never heard of an entire race being changed because of magic. Then again, what were the Skaven, or Vampires? Were they not creatures changed by magic? He smiled. "Your race sounds fascinating. I would very much like to meet more of your people."

"You may well do," she replied with a smile. She looked much more beautiful when she smiled, thought Imrik. "If you would join Eragon and myself, we will travel to Du Weldenvarden next week to complete his training. We can also train you if you wish?" she asked the last part with a slight quaver to her voice, which was so instantly covered up, Imrik thought he had imagined it.

"Of course I will come. Thank you for the offer, my Lady" he replied, bowing slightly to her. "What else can you tell me of your culture?"

For the next hour they walked towards and around the training grounds, Arya explaining the culture of her people. Imrik found it interesting that they ate no meat and sung homes from the trees. All of this he could accept, for feeling and animal's last thoughts before it died would put him off eating the animal, and legend had it that the court of the Everqueen was sung from the trees by the first of the line of queens. He didn't know if this was a fact for he had never visited her halls, her attraction had never held any sway over him.

What he found most disturbing was the fact that these elves didn't worship gods, quite the opposite. They thought those who believed foolish and naive. This might pose a barrier between his race and Arya's, and their friendship. He liked Arya and she seemed to take pleasure in his company as well. If he revealed his peoples' customs, would she scorn him and mock his people? He couldn't lie to her, it was not in his nature to lie or be ashamed of who he was. He was a prince of Caledor, a Dragon Prince. The pride of Caledor runs deep, his father had once told him, and Imrik would cast himself into Malekith's arms before he would swallow the pride of his kingdom. If he could hold his banner aloft while in front of the Phoenix King himself, why should he care for the affection of a maiden who was of a different race than his own? All these thoughts went around in his head as she asked the question he dreaded.

"So Imrik, what are your people like? Do we share much in common?" she asked in her musical voice, like clear spring water flowing in a stream. She looked into his eyes, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ears as she did so. He stared back into her sparkling emerald eyes, so like his own yet richer, like forest leaves, whereas his own were deep sea green of the ocean.

He took a deep breath. "We share a few things in common. Our appearances and longevity, our grace and skill at arms. Apart from that, we are quite different races. Where you are strong, we are only as strong as a man. Where you are quick, we are quicker. We also hunt and eat meat, though only enough to sustain us. We don't hunt for sport, at least, not where I am from or in the northern kingdoms. We are also at war a lot more than your race, for the hope of the world rests on my race's shoulders. Our homes are built of stone, not of trees, in the vast majority. Our magic is also vastly different from your own, stemming from the Winds of Magic, and not a language." He said slowly.

She nodded her understanding though her brow creased slightly. "We are vastly different races. But I don't see why we can't be friends." She said, her smile returning.

Imrik smiled back and said, almost in a whisper, "We also worship the gods." He held her gaze, looking straight into her eyes, daring her to oppose him, yet silently willing her not to. What flashed through her eyes were shock, curiosity and confusion.

"B-but... why? Its illogical and naive to believe that some higher entity looks on." She said, her face a mask of confusion.

Imrik sighed. "In our world, gods are a lot more present than in this. They may well not exist here, but they are as real as you or me. My spear and armour were gifts from Asuryan to my ancestor, Cadrith, when he fought in our first war, the war of the Daemons, almost seven thousand years ago. The shadow warriors still hold that their king, Alith Anar, was given his bow by the moon goddess, Lileath, in payment for his oath of vengeance. And the Sword of Khaine was what allowed our race to survive, though cursing Aenarion's line for the power. There are many more examples of gods in our world but I will not list them. Do you believe me? Can we still be friends if we have different philosophical views?" he asked anxiously.

She considered him, looking into his eyes, he felt like she was staring into his soul, searching for the truth of his words. Finally she nodded. "If you have enough evidence to believe in gods in your world, who am I to doubt you? You seem logical and wise enough to make an informed decision." She smirked slightly when she finished.

Imrik smiled ruefully. "Logic and wisdom. Two things you can never get enough of, two things that many say I lack when angered. I thank you for believing in me, this is no light matter. Now, how about that rematch?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"You have yourself a match." She replied, a fire awakening in her eyes, burning with such ferocity that Imrik smiled turned to a competitive grin. This would be fun.

Imrik awoke the next morning and groaned slightly. He had spent the rest of yesterday sparring with Arya, and his limbs had paid the price. He was covered in bruises and his joints were stiff. Rising and stretching himself, he walked to the mouth of the cave, looking out into the dragonhold. Seeing no-one was there, he turned and dressed, rubbing a bruise on his arm. He was just about to wake Gwihir when a dwarf sped into the dragonhold.

Saphira's head snaked out of her cave, blinked at the dwarf and withdrew. The dwarf turned to look at Imrik, bowed and said, "You must come, Argetlam! Great trouble – Ajihad summons you. There is no time!"

"What's wrong?" asked Eragon sleepily, stumbling to the mouth of his cave half dressed.

The dwarf shook his head, his beard flying back and forth. "Go, you must, both of you! Carkna bragha! Now!"

Eragon dived back into his cave as Imrik saddled Gwihir, belted on his sword on impulse, and leapt onto Gwihir's back. The dragon jumped out from the cave, flapped his wings once or twice and soared out of the dragonhold, Saphira right behind him.

They flew down to where Orik was waiting, his expression grim. "Come, the others are waiting." He led them through Tronjheim to Ajihad's study. Eragon and Imrik fired off questions at the dwarf but all he told them was, "I don't know enough myself – wait until you hear Ajihad."

"_I wonder what could have gone wrong? Something major must have befallen the Varden or the dwarves for a meeting of the leaders to have been called..." _said Gwihir in his mind. Imrik sent his agreement through their link, pondering the situation.

When they arrived, the guards opened Ajihad's doors to reveal the haggard leader of the Varden, bleakly looking down at a map. _"War has found us." _Said Imrik to Gwihir. He knew that expression. It was one of a commander who is facing overwhelming odds but cannot afford to lose. Also in the room were Arya and a man with wiry arms that looked about Ajihad's age.

"Good, you're here, Imrik, Eragon. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command." Said Ajihad, looking up as they entered the room.

They acknowledged each other, before turning back to Ajihad. "I roused you all because we are in grave danger. About half an hour ago a dwarf ran out of an abandoned tunnel under Tronjheim. He was bleeding and nearly incoherent, but he had enough sense left to tell the dwarves what was pursuing him: an army of Urgals, maybe a day's march from here."

Silence pervaded the air. Then Jörmundur swore explosively and began firing off questions at the same time as Orik. Eragon looked on still too shocked to form words. Arya looked at Imrik but remained silent. Ajihad raised his hands, "Quiet! There is more. The Urgals aren't approaching over land, but under it. They're in the tunnels ... we're going to be attacked from below."

Eragon found his voice and shouted over Orik's and Jörmundur's swearing, "Why didn't the dwarves know about this sooner? How did the Urgals find the tunnels?"

"We're lucky to know about it this early!" bellowed Orik. All talk stopped abruptly as everyone turned their attention on the irate dwarf. "There are hundreds of tunnels throughout the Beor Mountains, uninhabited since the day they were mined. The only dwarves who go in them are eccentrics who don't want contact with anyone. We could just as easily received no warning at all."

Ajihad pointed on the map and everyone moved in. Imrik saw what must be the continent of Alagaësia. It looked about the size of the human Empire, with a range of mountains down in the south, a great forest in the east and another range of mountains in the west. The southern mountains were shown in detail. Ajihad laid his finger on a point where the mountains bordered with a country called Surda. "This," he said, "is where the dwarf claimed to have come from."

"Orthíad!" exclaimed Orik.

"What?" asked Jörmundur, clearly confused.

"It's an ancient dwelling of ours that was deserted when Tronjheim was completed. During its time it was the greatest of our cities. But no one's lived there for centuries."

"And it's old enough for some of the tunnels to have collapsed," said Ajihad. Imrik put the pieces together.

"So some of the tunnels must be accessible from the surface, allowing our enemies entrance to the network, and by extension, the rest of the mountain range. This is indeed a grave situation. Are we sure that the Urgals are all attacking here? What if they mean to strike in different locations at the same time and prevent the cities from aiding each other? Perhaps here and here?" he said, pointing to two cities close to Farthen Dûr. "They are within a day's march over land and could easily come to our aid if we called. Wouldn't you try to cut off your enemies? Divide and conquer, as my father used to say." Imrik said, looking up and meeting Ajihad and Arya's eyes.

"That is a disturbing thought. If the Urgals do have the numbers to besiege three cities, what chance to we have if they attack here?" asked Jörmundur.

"From what we can tell, the Urgals have ignored other dwarven cities on their way to Farthen Dûr. We must assume they mean to wipe out the Varden and deal a huge blow against the dwarves in one stroke by taking Tronjheim. It is the only way we can prepare." Replied Ajihad grimly. Arya nodded her accent.

"I've already talked with Hrothgar, and we've decided on a course of action. Our only hope is to contain the Urgals in three of the larger tunnels and channel them into Farthen Dûr so they don't swarm inside Tronjheim like locusts. I need you, Eragon, Imrik and Arya, to help the dwarves collapse extraneous tunnels. The job is to big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: on outside Tronjheim, the other beneath it. Eragon, Imrik, you're to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground; Orik will guide you to them." Continued Ajihad, pointing to the people he mentioned as he said their name. Imrik was glad to work beside Eragon as his magical knowledge was still mediocre. The plan seemed sound, as long as they set up strong defences around the tunnels the planned to use as funnels then the Urgals could be massacred before they could do any damage, maybe being forced to flee due to the amount of casualties. Imrik had seen it before.

"Why not collapse all the tunnels instead of leaving the large ones untouched?" asked Eragon. He needed instruction in military tactics, thought Imrik.

"Because," replied Orik, "that would force the Urgals to clear away the rubble, and they may decide to go in a direction we don't want them to. Plus, if we cut ourselves off, they could attack the other dwarf cities as Imrik said and we would be unable to assist in time."

"There is also another reason," said Ajihad, "Hrothgar warned me that Tronjheim sits on such a dense network of tunnels that if too many are weakened, sections of the city will sink into the ground under their own weight. We can't risk that."

"So there won't be any fighting within the city? All of our forces will be deployed on the plains to allow manoeuvring and to draw the Urgals away from the city?" asked Imrik, eyes narrowed. This could either go very right or horridly wrong.

"Yes. Our forces are too small to defend the perimeter of Tronjheim and if they stay in the tunnels, they could quarry under the city and take it. If we draw the whole force onto the surface then we may be able to defeat them." Replied Ajihad.

"What of our families?" asked Jörmundur, "I will not see my wife and son murdered by Urgals."

The lines on Ajihad's already haggard face deepened. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. That's all I can do, under the circumstances."

"If we are to fall, Gwihir and I will act as a rear guard for the refugees. We can hold them in the confines of the valleys, giving them time to get a decent lead before we are overrun." Imrik said grimly. Ajihad nodded his thanks.

"Sir, is Nasuada going as well?" asked a clearly relieved Jörmundur.

"She is not pleased, but yes." All eyes turned to Ajihad as he squared his shoulders and announced, "The Urgals will arrive in a matter of hours. We know their numbers are great, but we must hold Farthen Dûr. Failure will mean the dwarves' downfall, death to the Varden – and the eventual defeat of Surda and the elves. This is the one battle we cannot lose. Now go and complete your tasks! Jörmundur, ready the men to fight."

"**Death or Glory!" **yelled Imrik, throwing his fist into the air before turning and sprinting down one of the main tunnels of Farthen Dûr, Gwihir, Eragon and Saphira on his heels. Everywhere people ran hither and dither, calling out to each other or strapping on armour.

As they exited Tronjheim, Imrik peered into the gloom, looking for the dwarves they were supposed to be helping. Turning back to Eragon, he nodded at the far side of the city. Eragon nodded his understanding, swinging up onto Saphira as Imrik mounted Gwihir.

"Will you tell me the words you intend to use once you have evaluated the problem?" Imrik shouted across to Eragon. The human nodded as the two dragons swept down towards a small cluster of lanterns. The two dragons descended soundlessly, startling the group of pick-axe wielding dwarves who had been digging on the site. Eragon quickly outlined why they were there to a sharp-nosed dwarf, who nodded politely.

"There's a tunnel about four yards below us. Any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated."

"If you clear the area over the tunnel, I'll see what I can do." Replied Eragon. The dwarf looked doubtful yet ordered his diggers of the site. Eragon turned to Imrik and told him of his plan to apply force to the weak sections of the tunnel, collapsing it. Imrik nodded his understanding and asked the dwarf where the next tunnel was. A dwarf guided him over to another spot and Imrik thanked him.

He took a deep breath and extended his conscience towards the tunnel. "Thrysta Deloi." He said as his senses opened up to the magic. He searched for the flaws in the rock that Eragon had mentioned and every time he found one, he would push into it, elongating it and widening it. It felt like he was actually splitting the rock with a pick, yet it was much quicker. His battle training kept him from feeling the train too much, yet he knew he couldn't keep this up indefinitely.

Before long though, a groan emanated from the ground as the soil sunk into a pit about eight yards across. Imrik smiled and looked over at Eragon who had just accomplished the same thing. They grinned at each other as the dwarves began to wall up the tunnel with rubble. Over the course of the next few hours, he and Eragon managed to collapse another half dozen tunnels, with the help of Saphira and Gwihir.

As they worked, the pale light of day crept into Farthen Dûr. Imrik and Eragon looked up from the rubble of the last tunnel and surveyed the mass evacuation of the Varden's women, children and feeble men. A seemingly endless train ran from Tronjheim towards, what Imrik assumed, to exits into the valleys.

The main activity though was concentrated around the base of the city-mountain, where the Varden and dwarves were assembling for battle. The army was divided into three battalions. Imrik hoped the company he trained were able to put the training to use with the rest of their unit. Each held a standard, a white dragon holding a rose above a sword pointing downward on a purple field.

The men were silent, nervous. Silence could be a powerful weapon on the battlefield, if it was the silence of devotion. The Phoenix Guard, when they came to the field, were one of the biggest presences in an army purely because of their silence. Imrik had seen whole hordes of orcs charge the sword masters of Hoeth, rather than face the silent fury of the Phoenix Guard. At the rear of each battalion, archers tested their bows. Pike and spearmen moved among the ranks of swordsmen.

The dwarves were garbed heavily for battle. Full suits of burnished steel armour, roundshields stamped with their clan, and swords in their belts. They were all armed with axed or mattocks. Their legs were covered in a fine mail and their feet were clad in brass-studded boots. Iron caps rested upon their brows.

A small figure detached itself from the far battalion and hurried to meet them. It was Orik, clad like the rest of the dwarves. "Ajihad wants you to join the rest of the army," he said, "There are no more tunnels to cave-in. Food is waiting for both of you."

"I will meet you presently. I must go and dress for war." Said Imrik. He jumped onto Gwihir, waved a quick goodbye and took off for the dragonhold. When they landed Imrik rand into the back of the cave where he had stored Gwihir's armour.

Piece by piece, he dressed his dragon. His tail, back, legs and neck were fully enclosed with shining star-steel plates that slid under each other as the dragon moved and flexed, as not to cause a hindrance, his chest and belly were also armoured so not to restrict his movements, but to offer maximum protection. His head was armoured with a half helm that did not hinder the dragon's jaws in combat. The whole suit was embroidered with gold and jewels, making it shine with the light of the stars.

Imrik dressed himself in his own armour, strapping his bow behind the saddle and his shield to his arm. Hefting his spear and sliding on his helm, they departed the dragonhold with a defiant roar, a roar that captured the pride and indomitable will of Caledor. All eyes turned to stare at the majestic grey dragon, shining like a star, as they glided down to where Saphira and Eragon were also armouring themselves, Eragon with more success than Saphira. They stopped to look up at Gwihir and Imrik swooped down, landing heavily next to them.

"Looks like you may require some assistance!" chuckled Imrik, leaping from the saddle and landing lightly, even under the weight of his armour. He pulled off his helm and held it in the crook of his left arm as he approached the stunned trio.

"That is a fine suit of armour. I have never seen such craft, not even the elves could better it, but isn't it heavy?" asked Orik in an awed voice.

Imrik chuckled. "This suit is a gift from a god, it weighs nothing to the rightful heir of my house. It has solved many disputes in the family. Here." He said and tossed the helm to Orik, who caught it nimbly.

"This weighs more than any other helm I have ever held, and I swear it is getting heavier!" the dwarf exclaimed. Imrik took the helm and set it on the ground. He implanted his spear blade down next to it and rested his shield on the spear's shaft.

"Now let's get this armour strapped onto you, Saphira." He said. Walking towards the blue dragon.

"_Thank you Imrik. If you could show Eragon how to strap on these plates, then perhaps we could get going before the battle is over." _Said a highly annoyed feminine voice in his head. He assumed that this was Saphira and chuckled at her humour.

"_Of course, Saphira."_ He replied. " Eragon, come on. You need to see how this is done."

For the next twenty minutes, Imrik taught Eragon the quickest and most secure ways of fitting the armour onto Saphira, while checking the pieces she had already on were secure. They stood back and admired the result. Saphira's armour was much like Gwihir's only not as elaborately adorned. Her plates were also more triangular than Gwihir's, who had more leaf-shaped plates.

"_This will slow me down, but it'll help stop the arrows. How do I look?" _asked Saphira to Eragon, Imrik and Gwihir.

"_Very intimidating." _ Answered Eragon

"_You will outshine the star dragons one day Saphira, if you continue to grow." _Relied Imrik, sending her an image of one of the star dragons in response to her questioning look.

"_Dangerous and powerful, our enemies will flee in terror!" _said Gwihir, looking Saphira straight in the eyes. She bowed her head slightly, as did he. Imrik turned to inspect Eragon's armour.

He was dressed in a long shirt of leather-backed mail that fell to his knees. It appeared to weigh him down and clinked when he moved. He had his sword belted over it, which appeared to stop most of the mail's movement. On his head was a leather cap, a mail coif and finally a helm of steel and gold. Bracers were strapped to his forearms, greaves to his lower legs. Mail-backed gloves covered his hands. Lastly, his left side was covered by a large shield, emblazed with an oak tree. Imrik's own kite shield would set his apart in this battle just as much as his armour.

After they were fully dressed, Eragon turned to Orik and bowed. "Thank you for these gifts. Hrothgar's presents are greatly appreciated."

"Don't give thanks now," said Orik with a chuckle. "Wait until the armour saves your life."

The warriors began to march away. The three battalions were repositioning themselves around Farthen Dûr. Eragon looked unsure of what to do, so Imrik pointed at the battalion closest to them. "Follow them. I'll be in the air, helping where the hammer falls hardest. See you on the other side, my Asuryan's fire go with you." He turned and walked towards Gwihir, picking up his spear, shield and helm as he went. He set them on the hooks that would hold them in battle is he needed free use of his arms, and placed his helm on his head.

Taking to the air, he pulled his bow from behind the saddle, strung it and fitted an arrow to the string, before resting it on his side. The climbed to a height where Imrik could clearly see the entrances of the three tunnels that the Varden were using to bring the Urgals to the surface, but out of range of most bows except his own and maybe that of elves.

Around the entrances of the tunnels, the rubble formed a slope for the Urgals. Hundreds of lanterns bathed the area in the light of an evening sun. At the back of the opening, huge vats of pitch heated over fires. Imrik sighed at the vats. It was a horrid way to kill anything except Daemons, Druchii or Skaven. At the entrances of the tunnels, rows of sharpen stakes were being hammered into the ground to provide a barricade. Imrik saw Eragon rush forward to assist and smiled at the human's efforts. He had a good heart.

Imrik surveyed the battalions more closely. He saw that they were evenly numbered so the hammer of the Urgals would probably fall on either the dwarves of the battalion without Saphira and Eragon to aid it. Seeing where he must go in the end, Imrik motioned to Eragon's battalion and Gwihir glided down to meet them.

As he landed he saw Murtagh, Orik and Eragon hunkered down next to Saphira. He dismounted and walked to Eragon, bow still in hand. "Any news?" he asked the human.

"Only that we should join our mind with the Twins so Ajihad can relay orders to us." He replied. Imrik snorted his disgust. A hand appeared on his right shoulder, the one without the dragon wing neck guard. He turned and saw Arya looking up and down his armour with a critical eye.

"Can you even move in this hunk of metal?" she asked in a sceptical tone, raising a sharp eyebrow. Imrik smirked and stepped back, before flipping backwards to land crouched on Gwihir's saddle, bow pulled taught and aimed at Arya's heart. He slowly took the tension out of the string, smirking at Arya's raised eyebrows.

"My armour weights less than you do on my shoulders, my Lady." He said, bowing. Arya scowled at the memory of the training session where Imrik had flipped her over his shoulder, using her strength against her.

"Will you fight?" asked Eragon, worry clear in his eyes. Imrik saw deep into the boy's eyes and saw the beginnings of lust and maybe a little love. He mentally shook his head. It never went well, falling in love with one of a different race.

"I do what I must." Said Arya calmly

"But It's too dangerous!"

"I think Arya can handle herself in battle. If she can beat you in combat, surely you should be the one who is sitting with the women?" said Imrik quietly, wishing to save his friend from Arya's wrath.

"True. I was given the task of protecting Saphira's egg ... which I failed. My breoal is dishonoured and would be further shamed if I did not guard you and Saphira on this field. You forget I am stronger with magic than any here, including you. If the Shade comes, who can defeat him but me? Who else had the right?" she asked scathingly.

Imrik thought he could also defeat this monstrosity called Durza, but thought better of voicing his opinion. It was not his right to slay the fiend. Eragon stared at her helplessly before saying, "Then stay safe. Wiol pömnuria ilian."

"I doubt I could forgive myself also, if you were killed on account of protecting me and Gwihir, which is what Eragon meant I am sure." Added Imrik quickly, "_Does he have a death wish?" _he said to Gwihir.

Arya's hair fell over her face as she turned away uneasily, obscuring her expression. She ran her hand along her bow. "It is my wyrd to be here. The debt must be paid." She said before moving off. Imrik turned to Eragon.

"Let her be. She must do this, nothing you can say or do will change her." He said, laying a hand on Eragon's shoulder as the younger man tried to move after her.

"You are a good friend Imrik. Try and get her to at least stay away from the thick of the fighting. Please?" Eragon begged Imrik.

"As long as you don't do anything stupid." He replied with a rueful smile and a sigh, before walking back over to Arya, who was settled on the ground thirty or so feet away. Knowing Eragon would do something stupid, he made no attempt to try and dissuade Arya.

"If you are here on Eragon's behalf, he will be disappointed. I will not move on this." She said when he came within earshot. Imrik smiled and sat down next to her, taking the arrow from his bowstring and holding it to his eye level. He looked over it once before putting it on the ground with his bow.

"I know. I promised him I would talk to you about it if he did nothing stupid. I've known him for about three days and I know already that he will try and be heroic but nearly get killed. I want you to be there when he does this. I can think of no better guardian for the two of them." He turned and smiled at her. She was beautiful, he thought. Imrik had never really looked at the women in his country. He had always been of the opinion that there was no time for courting when you were at war constantly, but now that he was here, in another world on the eve of battle, feelings he never knew he possessed were stirring inside of him.

She turned and returned the smile, the warmth of her gaze heating the coals of his heart. "Thank you Imrik. I think I have found a great friend in you. I have only really had two or three friends in recent years. Now they lie dead at the hands of Durza and the Urgals. I know that you will probably leave for your home at the first chance you get, but know that I will always consider you as a friend."

"I am sorry for your loss." He said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "If I do leave before this war is out, then expect me to return – After this battle, I will be involved in this war, for better or worse. – and when I return, I will bring the fury of Caledor with me! We will avenge your friends." Grim determination mixed with cold fury stole into Imrik's eyes. Arya looked into his eyes and gasped lightly.

Time dragged on. Imrik starred off towards the tunnel, holding Arya's hand lightly to comfort her. Eragon sat next to Saphira, stealing glances over at him. Their eyes met and Imrik sent his intensions to Eragon. He nodded his understanding and his eyes turned remorseful. He started to rise but Imrik shook his head slightly. Eragon looked pained but sat back down. There were many false alarms, angry voices could be heard everywhere as tensions ran high. Imrik saw Eragon drift off into a fitful sleep. He turned to Arya.

"Rest. You'll need it." He said plainly. She looked at him and nodded, lying down on her side facing Imrik. Within a few moments, she was asleep. Imrik looked at her sleeping form, thinking how beautiful she looked when she was at peace.

"_You to, Gwihir. You will need all the strength you have for the battle." _

"_True. Wake me when something interesting happens." _Said the dragon as he curled up next to Saphira and Eragon. Imrik shook his head and continued to stare through the heavy night air. The smoke from the pitch, the breath and heat from the bodies of men and dwarves created a humid atmosphere that pressed down on Imrik. That's the worst thing about being underground, he decided. There's no wind to clean the air. The settled down to wait, thinking about home and the amount of battles he had been in there.

A scout sprinted out of the tunnel and Imrik knew it had begun. He touched Arya lightly on the arm, standing up and stretching his muscles. She rose next to him, nodded her understanding at her awakening and walk towards Eragon. Imrik followed her, waking Gwihir on his way. Arya touched Eragon on the arm, much in the same way that Imrik had done for her. He woke with a start.

"It has begun." Arya said, her expression sorrowful. All around the troops stood alert and ready, weapons held tightly in their hands. Orik swung his axe about him, testing his room. Arya strung her bow and notched and arrow. Imrik mirrored her actions.

"A scout ran out of the tunnels a few minutes ago," said Murtagh to Eragon. "The Urgals are coming."

Together they watched the tunnel. Imrik swung himself into the saddle and waited. Eragon did the same and drew his sword, which gleamed in the half light like fresh blood. Murtagh mounted his horse next to him. Then a voice cried, "I hear them!"

Imrik heard them too. The warriors stiffened; grips tightening on weapons. No one moved ... no one breathed. You could have heard a mouse move. Then ... a harsh shout echoed through the silence, a war cry followed swiftly after and then the air was filled with the chanting of the Urgals' brutal cries. The command was given and the pitch cauldrons were up ended into the yawning mouth of the cavern. The Urgals shouts turned to bellows of pain as the boiling liquid scalded their skin and burned their limbs. A torch was thrown into the bubbling black liquid and a river of fire opened up in the tunnel. Imrik looked on grimly, but saw Eragon turn away, sheath his sword and string his bow.

The Urgals clambered over their burned kin, forming a solid wall as they amassed behind the palisades that Eragon had help build. The first row of archers drew and fired, Arya, Eragon and Imrik adding their shots to the withering hail of bolts as it scythed through the monsters' ranks. Their line wavered, threatening to break, but Imrik knew it was not yet done. They reformed and covered themselves with their shields. Imrik shot again, finding a gap in the wall and downing an Urgal. The rest of the archers weren't so lucky, finding nothing but the wood of Urgal shields. Imrik stowed his bow, strapped on his shield and grasped his spear.

The Urgals flowed onto the surface, their numbers seemingly endless. They resembled Orcs in battle strategy. Large groups of fighter with very little discipline, yet no less deadly. Banners were raised and horns blown, their crude notes letting all in Farthen Dûr know that the Urgals had come. As one, they charged the barricade.

A sickening crunch and squelch told Imrik that the stakes had held. The first line of Urgals lay impaled upon the barrier as a cloud of black arrows soared towards the Varden. Imrik covered himself with his shield and Gwihir dipped his head, the arrows rattling harmlessly off his armour, though two slammed into Imrik's shield, the dark bolts contrasting against the clean white field.

The stakes seemed to confuse the Urgals, as they milled around for a moment before war cries were raised again and the beasts surged forward. The stakes bowed and snapped, the Urgal horde pouring forward to meet the ranks of pike men that jabbed furiously at them, trying to drive them back. But the beasts would not be denied, overpowering the pike men and surging towards the main force.

The Varden roared and charged forward to meet the Urgals, men and dwarves howling for blood. Saphira bugled her advance and lunged forward into battle.

"**Into the skies! For Caledor and the Phoenix King!" **bellowed Imrik as Gwihir jumped into the skies, turning towards Ajihad's battalion and swooping down toward the Urgal archers, roaring his defiance of the odds. The beasts panicked, letting lose an undisciplined and pointless volley of arrows that failed to even come close to hitting either dragon or Rider. Gwihir struck with the force of a thunderbolt, knocking over the first few Urgals as he landed, crushing them beneath his claws, his head swinging left and right, clubbing the Urgals down before grabbing one in his jaws, shaking it and throwing it over his right shoulder. His tail swung and slammed down on the Urgals, his legs slashing out to the sides as he demolished the archers.

Imrik struck down from his seat, using his spear's length to compensate for his distance from the ground. He struck left and right, quick as a viper, aiming for the necks and hearts of the beasts. Three fell before the even registered that Imrik was in the fight. The rest didn't have time to raise a weapon in defence before they found their life flowing down their chests and necks.

Rider and dragon turned back to the main body of Urgal warriors and dived in, Imrik launching himself from the saddle with a clear war cry, landing in front of the Urgal lines as they crashed into the humans. He found himself near to Ajihad. The human nodded his recognition and fought his way closer. Imrik sliced down any Urgal that came within reach of his spear's deadly arch. He let the light of the Asur shine out fully, his battle gear shining with power and purity. The Urgals fell before the intense white light, allowing the Varden to reform around Imrik and Gwihir. Imrik mounted again and turned to Ajihad.

"Forward my friends, let us drive these beasts back to their villages!" he called to the battalion. The Varden roared with Gwihir and charged into the Urgals, Gwihir tossing them to and fro with a swing of his head. They drove the Urgals back almost to the mouth of the tunnel before numbers started to tell again. Imrik caught sight of Eragon and Saphira swooping over the battlefield. Leaving the fight with Ajihad, Imrik and Gwihir took to the skies.

Imrik looked down on the chaos of the battlefield. He saw Eragon and Saphira dive towards the dwarves and begin to assist them. Imrik saw that the three different battles that raged across Farthen Dûr were slowly turning against the Varden. The Urgals appeared to be gathering around certain banners, depicting clans, yet they had no overall war leader present. This worried Imrik as he thought back to what Arya had said earlier. Suddenly it clicked. The Shade! He was the commander! That's how the Urgals fought together at all, his magic was controlling them. He was about to relay this to the Twins when he felt them close their minds to him.

He then saw the reason why. Saphira, with Arya and Eragon on her back, was flying for the dragonhold. "_We have to warn them! Hurry Gwihir!"_ said Imrik, urging his dragon to fly for the hold. When they landed, they found Saphira and Arya, the elf working hard on Saphira's chest plate that was caved in around an impact crater, blood trickled out of a gash in the metal. With one quick bound, Imrik slashed the leather straps that held the piece in place and it fell to the ground with a clang.

"Leather can be replaced." He said in way of answer, "Heal her, quickly. Where is Eragon, Arya?"

She looked towards Vol Turin and Imrik swore explosively. "What's wrong?" she asked him, looking unnerved by the display of rage.

"Durza is here! He's the one breaking in! The Twins think it is only Urgals but he is the commander! That's why their clans fight together." He said, "We have to – " he cut himself off when he heard the explosion. He looked down to see, far below, his fears coming to light. Urgals clambered out of a hole blasted through the rock and with them, a figure in black armour with hair the colour of blood. It could only be the Shade.

"_We have to rescue Eragon!" _shouted Saphira in Imrik's mind. He met Arya's eyes. She looked down at the floor, then at the dragons, then back down at the floor. She met his eyes again.

"Help me break it." She said, motioning to the star-sapphire.

Imrik didn't question her but joined his mind, and that of Gwihir's with her and Saphira as she began to form a spell, drawing on the strength of all of them. She mounted Saphira again and Imrik swung onto Gwihir and poised his spear to throw it if necessary.

"Jierda du esterní fëon!" (**A/N: this was the best I could find for a spell. It means: break the star flower of spring!)** she yelled, pointing at the Star Sapphire. With a deafening crash the gem shattered, its pieces falling towards the floor as both Saphira and Gwihir leapt downwards, Arya brandishing her sword and Imrik, zoning in on Durza, who was standing over a bleeding Eragon with a sneer on his face, threw his spear at the fiend's heart. It never reached there, however, for with a defiant roar of "Brisingr!" Eragon lunged up and ran Durza through the heart with his blazing red blade. The Shade looked down in shock. They were still falling downwards, deadly shards of the gem all around them when Durza turned transparent, lines of darkness swirling beneath his skin. With a cry, the darkness burst forth from the Shade, separated into three beings and sped from the mountain.

Durza was dead.

Eragon fell backward, arms splayed, his blazing sword falling from his grasp. As it hit the stones of the floor the flames extinguished. Imrik was sure they would crash into the floor but Arya yelled something else in the Ancient Language, which Imrik understood to mean, "make all falling objects slow down and alight gently on the floor." They landed next to Eragon, Imrik's spear still descending. He grabbed it, turned to the Urgals that had surrounded them and mirrored Eragon's earlier spell, setting his spear tip on fire and charging the nearest beast. They fell back before the blazing spear tip and the glowing elf lord, fleeing back into the tunnels from whence they came. Imrik ended the spell and turned to see Arya working hard over Eragon's back, healing him as best she could.

"We must get him to the healers. Hurry." She said before pulling him into the saddle in front of her and having Saphira fly back up through the dragonhold and down to the healers tents, Imrik and Gwihir just behind. He took in the battlefield as they flew. The Urgals, it seemed, had devolved to fighting themselves with the Shade's death, before beginning to flee back down the tunnels. The Varden were cheering and celebrating but many stopped when the saw the two dragons swooping towards the make-shift healers tent that had been set up mere minutes earlier.

Saphira landed right outside with Arya jumping off her and hurrying Eragon inside. Imrik and Gwihir landed next to her and tried to console her, assuring her that Eragon would be fine. Imrik ran to a fire, took some food that he had stored in his saddle-bags and threw it into the flames crying, "**Asuryan, Emperor of the Heavens and Protector of my race, hear my plea! Save this boy, Eragon, for he has been a friend to your people! Lend me the power to aid him in this, his time of need! Hear me, O Mighty Phoenix!**"

The flames burned white hot and shot into the sky, ten feet above Imrik's head. Wings and two red eyes appeared out of the fire. "_**I here you, my son. I give upon you the power to save his life, though at a price. He shall carry the scar as a reminder of his folly until he joins with his dragon completely. He shall feel the pain of his folly whenever it strays from his mine. These are my words and will. Let it be done.**_" And with that, the flames dies down and turned back to a constant yellow, but Imrik's eyes burned with power. He swept into the tent, laid his hands on Eragon's back, ignoring Arya's cries of indignation and said, "**This is the will of my Lord, let it be done!**" the fire passed from his eyes, down his arms to his hands and engulfed Eragon's back. They shone pure white for a moment before dissipating.

Imrik looked down on Eragon's back. A thick, ropy scar, similar to Murtagh's, ran from his right shoulder to his left hip. The last thing he saw before he blacked out were Arya's eyes, wide with fear and confusion staring into his own. Then he tumbled backwards into the waiting dark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N: ****Right then, here we are, the fifth chapter. Going from Eragon and into Eldest. There will be plenty of stuff to read about in this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own IC or WFB...yet.**

"Come. He is awake."

Angela's voice roused Imrik from his thoughts. For the past day and a half, he had been hunting the Urgals beneath Farthen Dûr. He had procured a thigh wound by being reckless and charging headlong into a group of Urgals earlier today. After he was bandaged, he had set off with Arya, Saphira, Murtagh and Gwihir to see Eragon. Angela had said he was stirring, and Imrik wanted to talk to his friend.

Although, he thought as he entered the room, will he want to talk to me? Will he think that I left him with that horrid scar on purpose? Will he forgive me? Bah! What am I thinking! He's just a human! Why should I care what he thinks? But the truth was he did care, because Eragon was his friend. And if saving Eragon's life cost Imrik his friendship with him, he would be sorely hurt.

He hid his thoughts behind the mask of a small smile as he entered the room behind Arya and Murtagh. The Dragons snaked their heads in to lie, side by side. They had grown closer during the time when Eragon was unconscious, Gwihir and her having breathed fire for the first time at the same moment seemed to have struck a chord in the Gwihir. Now he very rarely went anywhere without her, they even slept in the same place, leaving Imrik to listen to the snores of two dragons.

But that was fine with him. He teased Gwihir on a regular basis about his love life. The dragon vehemently denying it and saying it was all to comfort her, not for his own pleasure. Imrik had scoffed at this but let the statement stand. At least, until he caught them red handed that is.

Eragon was sitting up in bed, looking worse than some for the corpses on the plain. His face was ashen and he moved like every stretch hurt him. Still, he managed a weak smile for his visitors. Murtagh grinned like a maniac."About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall of hours."

"What...what happened?" Eragon replied faintly.

Arya looked sad and Imrik too cast down his eyes in... what was this emotion? Guilt. Thankfully, Murtagh broke the tension of the silent elves, crowing loudly, "We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits – if that's what they were – flew across Farthen Dûr, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that!"

Eragon looked stunned at the news, "They're all dead?" he asked tentatively.

"No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was helping until an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."

Imrik snorted, "It was hardly a bang on the head! He nearly painted the tunnel an interesting new shade called 'brains of a fool'. If I hadn't of run him through, you would be dead in the ground, Murtagh."

Murtagh grumbled something and Eragon grinned. "They aren't going to lock you up again I hope?"

Murtagh grew sober but Imrik answered. "If they do, I'll break him out. He deserves a hero's welcome, not that of a traitor. As do you, in fact! If I remember rightly, there has only been two Shadeslayers in your history. Now you have passed into that history. Hail Eragon Shadeslayer!" he said with a smirk. Eragon blushed as Saphira roared her pleasure at the name.

"What happened with the Twins? They weren't where they should have been. I couldn't contact them – I needed their help."

"I know what you mean," said Imrik, eyes narrowed. "They would not allow me to contact them either."

Murtagh shrugged, "I was told they _bravely_ fought off a group of Urgals that broke into Tronjheim elsewhere. They were probably too busy to talk to either of you."

Imrik thought differently. They had blocked him for a reason, and not a friendly one, he was willing to bet. He would watch them closer in future. Eragon seemed to find something wrong as well but he turned to Arya and Imrik.

"How come you didn't crash? You two and Saphira and Gwihir... " He trailed off weakly.

Arya spoke slowly. "Imrik landed in the dragonhold about five minutes after you left. He warned us of the Shade just before you did. By the time the armour was off Saphira it would have been too late to slide down Vol Turin – you would have been captured before we go to the bottom. Besides, Durza would have killed you rather than let you be rescued." Her voice turned bitter and Imrik put a hand on her shoulder for support. "so I did the one thing I could to distract him: I broke the Star Sapphire."

"And we flew down together." Finished Imrik. He understood Arya's regret at the destruction of the star rose but Imrik himself would much prefer an alive Eragon to a carved gem.

Eragon closed his eyes. "But why didn't any of the pieces hit you or me?"

"I didn't allow them to. When we were almost to the floor, I held them motionless in the air, then slowly lowered them to the floor – else they would have shattered into a thousand pieces and killed you," she said simply, her words betraying her power.

Angela put on a sour expression, "Yes, and even with the energy from two dragons and a Rider, it almost killed you as well. It's taken all of my skill to keep you alive."

"How long have I been here?" he asked, wincing slightly. Imrik sighed internally and swept his eyes up to meet the boy's.

"A day and a half." He replied quietly.

His eyes widened and he reached for his back. Angela caught his hand and looked him in the eye. Imrik stepped forward and knelt at the bedside.

"Eragon, listen. You were dying from the blow the Shade dealt you. Neither Arya or I had the strength left to save you. Angela has said that she would not have been able to do better than what has passed. I prayed to my god, Asuryan, and he gave me the power to heal you, but at a price. A terrible price." At this Imrik dropped his eyes from the dilated pupils of Eragon. The boy yanked his hand from Angela's grip and felt his back. His face grew into a mask of horror as he reached his left hip. He looked at Imrik, then to Arya. He closed his eyes and murmured something incoherent.

"You have paid a great price for your deed, Eragon Shadeslayer." Said Arya, with a look at Imrik.

Murtagh laughed harshly, "Yes. Now you're just like me."

"Leave him. I think he needs to rest a bit more." Said Angela quietly. Imrik, Arya and Murtagh nodded mutely but Saphira refused to budge.

"_Come Gwihir. We must assist in any way we can in rebuilding after this battle._"

"_Of course. I have lingered too long at Saphira's side. We must return to our duties and lives together, instead of mourning that which has passed._" Replied the green dragon solemnly, before turning with Imrik and padding with him towards the nearest gate out into Farthen Dûr.

(Time Break) **(AN: If you want to, you can put on The Fray How to save a life for this next bit. I t works rather well with it I think.)**

"_Six days. That's all it took."_ Said Imrik wryly to Gwihir as the two of them padded down to the west gate of Tronjheim to wait for Ajihad, Murtagh and the Twins. They had been absent the past day and a half, returning to the hunt for Urgals beneath Farthen Dûr. They were expected back around mid-day, but Imrik wanted to be there at least two hours in advance so he could practice his magic, which he had had little time to do.

While the others had been hunting, Imrik had been helping clear the bodies away, finding loved ones for families and heaving the great hulks of dead Urgals onto pyres where they were burnt without ceremony.

"_Six days and I go from one war to another. How did it come to this?" _he asked when his dragon did not answer.

"_It seems that we have a knack for finding trouble, either that or it hunts us down." _Replied the great sea-green dragon at his side. Imrik smiled up at him, resting his left hand on his flank. Every time they past a pyre of un-burnt Urgals, Gwihir would swing his head around as the last body was piled on. With a growl he would arch his neck and blow a withering torrent of red-gold flames on the corpses, setting the air with the smell of burning flesh. Burning. It was all Imrik had seen since he had used Asuryan's power to save Eragon. The smoke of the burning, hanging in the still mountain air.

The rounded a corner and came upon the main passage from the east gate through Tronjheim. Before them was the central chamber and the ruin of the Star Rose. Imrik had seen the wreckage twice already, yet it still brought a tear to his eye. Seeing such beauty destroyed was no easy thing to bear when it resembled your own race so much... fragile, beautiful and broken. A second tear joined the first. Imrik walked to the centre of the chamber. A human passed by, stopped and looked at the elf. Imrik sank to the ground on top of the hammer that resided in the centre of the floor. The human moved on.

Imrik closed his eyes and sat there for what seemed like an eternity. A gentle tap on the shoulder roused him from his grief. He looked up into the concerned face of Arya. She knelt next to him. "What is it, my friend? What has caused your grief to strike you so?" she asked, her usual musical voice was touched with sadness and concern.

"**Home is behind, the world ahead. And there are many paths to tread. Through shadow, to the edge of night. Until the stars are all alight. Mist and shadow, cloud and shade. All shall fade... all shall... fade. **Oh Arya, why? Why should it befall us? We shall not live to see the end of our war! We shall all die and the world will fall into Chaos and ruin! Ahhhhg!" With this final cry Imrik's nerve and fortitude crumbled and slumped into Arya's arms, his eyes shut and his tears falling freely. Gwihir let loose his own lament, a low, keening moan that caused all who heard it to stop and wonder what sadness could cause such a sound.

"Hush, hush." She said pulling the crying prince into her arms. She held him tightly, feeling sobs wrack his body. She did not pretend to understand the song he had sung before collapsing, but she could hardly miss it's meaning. Imrik was despairing for his family and friends, maybe even his own life. She could not understand what could cause him such distress. Steeling herself for something she had never done to a friend and would never do again, she touched his mind. When he let her in, she pushed deeply into his couscous, seeking the source of his sadness. He tried to pull up his barriers but his grief destroyed his concentration and he fell back before her. She immersed herself in his mind.

_He was a boy, running towards the looming cave mouth, laughing as his brother called him back. He spend into the waiting darkness, sprinting towards where he knew he would find them. He entered the heart of the mountain and stopped in awe. Sleeping above and below him, like great multi-coloured mounds of glistening scales, lay the legacy of him family and his kingdom. _

_Dragons._

_The word sent shivers up his spine. He knew that he was destined to ride one. He knew he would be a Dragon Prince. So why wait?_

The vision changed.

_He was older now, fifteen and strong. He marched to war with the rest of his regiment, spears glistening in the sun. They were marching to Griffon gate. They would relieve the garrison there and hold the fortress for the next six months. He was already second in command and he had been in the regiment for merely a year. Soon he would be in the Silver Helms, slaying mighty beasts and earning great favour with the courts. He smiled at his dream, his fantasy. His destiny._

Arya pushed deeper into Imrik's memories, seeking the source of his turmoil. She did not like what she found.

_He was of age now. He had read the books, seen the cities and fought at war. He had seen how the daemons would not, could not be destroyed totally, but denied it to himself. As he walked through the deserted city towards the ancient mountains in which he had spent his childhood, his denials seemed ever more flimsy and fractious. His race was doomed. He could see it in the buildings. Once they hummed with life, now they lay cold and forgotten. A remnant of a past age. Such beauty, so frail, so soft. _

_He looked down and saw a child's doll. He stooped and picked it up, staring with wide eyes at the little cloth figure. It was a near perfect replica of an elf. Its figure and facial feature were almost identical to that of a living, breathing elf. So beautiful, so frail, and broken. _

_The doll fell from Imrik's nerveless fingers. He sank to the ground, his enlightenment too much for him to bear. His race was not the proud saviours of the world that they should and had been. They were a frail, broken mirror image of that glory. Beautiful still, yet fading, like light fades on midsummer's night. He wept for the first time in thirty years._

Arya gasped as she pulled herself back into her own body, her mind reeling from the revelation she had just witnessed. She looked down at the elf in her arms. He was only forty? She had assumed that he was at least her own age, maybe older, judging from the sadness that his eyes sometimes held, but now to learn that he was barely older than Eragon in comparison, and that he had endured such hardships, seeing his race slide slowly to oblivion.

A tear fell from her own face as she realised the true extent that the shattered gem had upon Imrik. How, to him, it represented his people and their fate. She pulled him closer and stroked his head, much as she would do a child. Her own tears fell now, wetting the crown of Imrik's head with her empathy. And thus they sat, neither moving, with Gwihir lying next to them, his large, sea-green eyes closed, his mouth slightly open in a silent keen of sadness.

Gradually, Arya brought Imrik back from tears. She had heard of elves and Riders dying of their emotional hurts, but had never come close to seeing it happen. Now before her, lay a Rider who needed help or else his grief would overcome him. She picked him up – for although he may be quite strong in terms of his people, he was still very light – and carried him from the chamber back towards his quarters. Gwihir slowly trailed after them. Whenever they met someone in the halls, Arya fixed them with a stare that said, "Leave now and mention this to no-one or you will suffer." When they entered Imrik's room, she laid him on the bed and at sat his side, whispering soothing words in the Ancient language, singing a lullaby of sorts. She stroked his hair and held his hand, thinking back to the eve of the battle, where he had done the same for her.

After a while, his sobs stopped and he slowly sat up and looked into her eyes. His noble face was stained with tear tracks but his jaw was set and his grief, which has been so prevent earlier, was hidden behind a steely look of determination. They sat, staring at each other for minutes before Imrik smiled. It was a small smile, barely more than a twitch of his lips but Arya saw it and rejoiced. She lunged forward and hugged him around his chest. He fell backward from the surprise tackle and laughed, wrapping his arms around he and holding her close. "Thank you Arya, for everything. You are the only one who will understand, apart from Gwihir. I cannot let my people fail, it would just be to ... to ... u-unbearable." He whispered quietly. He began to rush his words, saying, " It would destroy me. And I know that it is not your concern and that I – "

"Hush now." She said cutting him off with one of her delicate fingers on his lips. "Speak not of the future, for it is never certain. You will find a way to save your people, and I will help you." Their faces were inches apart, their foreheads touching. Arya felt her heart rate quicken, though she didn't understand why. Imrik looked into her eyes, searching deep into them, as if trying to see her soul with those beautiful, sea-green gems. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you. **My friend.**" He whispered into her ear.

Arya was shocked at what had transpired but hid it behind a smile. "Come, let us get you cleaned up then we shall greet Ajihad. Now is not the time for sorrow." Imrik nodded in response.

(Time break)

An hour later, Imrik stood at the western gate in a new tunic of green and gold. His sword was by his side. His face was clean and unblemished. His lips were turned up in a small smile and his eyes danced with the small happiness he was experiencing. Arya's hand was entwined in his for support and she had just finished describing the elven city of Kirtan to him. He saw Eragon round Tronjheim and head towards them. Arya turned to them, nodded and turned back to watching the lantern lit area where Ajihad was to emerge. Orik shifted uneasily.

"Where will Ajihad come from?" asked Eragon once he was next to Orik.

The dwarf pointed to the area, "He should be here soon."

They waited in silence for another half an hour, Eragon giving Arya a questioning look. Arya gave him a look that said "not your business" and Imrik smiled. He knew that Arya would never reveal what had happened unless he gave permission for her to do so. In truth, he was un-nerved by the ease with which he had crumbled and broken down. He would avoid the centre of Tronjheim from now on, he could not risk another break down like the last one.

Five miles away, ten men pulled themselves out of the tunnel, then turned and helped up as many dwarves. Imrik's sharp eyes picked out the figure of Ajihad raise a hand, and the group fell into two columns behind him. They began to march towards the city. They barely made it five yards before a flurry of moment caught Imrik's eye.

"Those are Urgals!" he exclaimed aloud. Orik squinted and swore as Imrik and Eragon vaulted into the saddle and the two dragons took off in a funnel of dust. Arya sprinted forward, Orik trailing with a group of men as Jörmundur ran for the barracks. Even as they flew, Imrik knew that the group would be overcome. The beasts had the advantage of surprise and quickly cut down four men. The rest, men and dwarves, bunched around Ajihad to protect him. Battle was joined. A flash of light and an Urgal fell. Beside Imrik and Gwihir, Saphira and Eragon flew. Imrik drew his sword.

A mist suddenly wrapped around the combatants. When it cleared, all of Ajihad's defence was gone save Murtagh and the Twins. The Urgals converged on them.

"**No!**" yelled Imrik as they came in, swooping down on the fight. The Urgals fled, leaving no-one standing. Gwihir landed at the tunnel entrance and blew a stream of flames after the retreating beasts as Imrik flipped backwards off his back, landing in a crouch and looking around him. Eragon landed as he caught sight of Ajihad, surrounded by fallen Urgals, his chest rent by many slashes. Blood poured from the wounds.

Arya ran up to them and her face fell with sorrow. "Eragon." Ajihad croaked out.

"Yes. I am here."

"Listen to me Eragon ... and you Imrik. I have one last command for you." Eragon leaned closer as Imrik crouched by his side. "You must promise me something: promise that you ... won't let the Varden fall into chaos. They are the only hope for resisting them Empire ... They must be kept strong. You must promise me."

"I promise." Relied Eragon his face mournful.

"As do I." Said Imrik in an even voice.

"Then peace be with you both..." with his last breath, Ajihad closed his eyes, set his face to face the afterlife, and passed from that world.

Eragon bowed his head, as did Imrik. Arya blessed him in the Ancient Language, then said in her lilting voice, "Alas, his death will cause much strife. He is right, you must both do all you can to avert a struggle for power. I will assist where possible."

Gwihir sniffed at an Urgal hen swung his head this way and that. "_Murtagh and the Twins are not among the dead."_

"_What?"_replied Imrik. He to surveyed the area and came to the same conclusion. "_The Urgals must have taken them... wait here."_

"_Imrik!"_ Gwihir barely got the word out before Imrik sprinted for the tunnel entrance.

He ran deeper and deeper into the tunnels, following the footsteps of the Urgals in the soft earth that covered the tunnel floor. After what seemed like hours, he came to a ravine, the bottom of which he could not see. On the edge was something that chilled his blood. One of the robes worn by the Twins, bloodied and ripped, and Murtagh's shirt. He knelt and picked both garments up. He stood as Arya ran up next to him. She looked at the garments in his hands and sighed.

"So much tragedy for one day. First you, then Ajihad and now Murtagh and the Twins. What is happening Imrik? This should not have been." She said in a hollow voice.

"I don't know," replied Imrik, staring into the abyss, "But I intend to find out." He sheathed his sword. "Come, let us return. Tonight will be one of sorrow, set us not make it any worse by making them think we are included in the death count." She nodded her agreement and the two set off back for Tronjheim in silence.

(time break)

Imrik sat the next morning in one of Tronjheim's feasting halls eating his breakfast. Gwihir was next to him, tearing into a haunch of meat. People passed him by, occasionally stopping to bow and say "Argetlam" before continuing on their way. That was fine with Imrik. He needed time to recover from all the emotional turmoil of the past few days. Firstly, he had been tossed into a world he knew nothing about, then fought in a battle, nearly seen his friend die, only to cause him pain if he exerted himself. Then he had broken down yesterday and only Arya had saved him from falling into the abyss of self pity that would kill him. Now, Murtagh was gone and Ajihad was dead. It was not a good week.

"Rider Imrik?" a voice said. Turning, Imrik saw a small boy looking at him with wide eyes while every so often cutting glances at Gwihir, who had looked up from his meal so examine the newcomer.

"What is it, boy?" Imrik asked with a small smile.

"You have been summoned to speak before the Council of Elders. It is a great honour!" he said, daring a smile of his own.

"And you are to lead me to them, is that correct?" asked the elf, amused.

"Yes sir." Said the boy.

"_Are you done?" _Imrik asked Gwihir. The dragon snapped up the remaining meat before nodding yes.

"What are you called, boy?" Imrik asked their guide as they left the feast hall.

"Jarsha, sir."

"Well Jarsha, you have done well in your errand. You should be proud." The boy beamed. "But please tell me, what is this council?" asked Imrik politely.

Jarsha seemed flustered. "Er – they are the people we, the Varden, choose to speak on our behalf to Ajihad. They are – er were – his trusted advisers."

"Ahh of course. And now they wish to speak to me. Thank you Jarsha." Replied Imrik with a small smile. They had arrived at a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. Inside was a circular room with a dome blue as the sky, decorated with stars. A round marble table, decorated with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, stood in the centre of the room. Seated around it were Jörmundur and two other men, one was tall, the other broad; a woman with pinched lips and too much paint on her cheeks, making her look like a doll; and a second woman with a pile of gray hair that gave the impression of motherly wisdom and comfort, betrayed by the dagger in her bodice.

"You may go." Said Jörmundur to Jarsha, who bowed and left hurriedly.

Imrik ignored the looks directed at him and began to wander aimlessly around the room, Gwihir lying down, yawning expansively, and half closing his eyes. The council members followed his movements, all except Jörmundur had thinly hidden expressions of outrage on their faces. Finally Jörmundur spoke.

"Imrik, thank you for coming." Imrik nodded that he had heard him before pretending to examine the lanterns on the walls. Jörmundur cleared his throat. Imrik turned to look at him.

"Yes?" he said with an innocent expression.

"This is Umérth," the tall man, "Falberd," the broad man; "and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women. Imrik flicked his eyes to each, met their gaze, then moved on. He gave no other recognition.

"We face a crisis that must be resolved or the Varden will fall into chaos and ruin. We must choose Ajihad's successor or they will be chosen for us. Hrothgar has already sent us his condolences, but be sure that he will be planning what to do now. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata. The magic users are fickle at the best of times and may chose to oppose us for their own gain. That is why we need you and Eragon to provide the legitimacy needed to whoever we choose."

"Then why is Eragon not here yet? Have you sent for him? Surely he must be involved in this discussion?" asked Imrik quickly, noting how the council stiffened when he asked this.

"Eragon will be summoned shortly. There are things that must be discussed between us and yourself privately." Replied Elessari, her dagger hilt glistening.

Imrik nodded, knowing full well that was the truth but also that it was not the whole truth. Falberd heaved himself up, putting his hands on the table to support him. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But first," he raised a finger. "you must swear that you will not disclose anything of this conversation outside of this room."

Imrik thought about this. "_Why would they want that? Probably to stop me communicating with either Arya or Eragon, or even Orik before they have made their choice public."_

"_True. It gives them the power. But remember, they haven't asked me to swear anything. I can still relay this entire conversation to anyone. Foolish of them to forget I am not a dumb beast." _Replied Gwihir. Imrik smirked inwardly at this and, satisfied that he had looped their system, gave his word. The council relaxed visibly.

"So who have you chosen to lead you?" asked Imrik, addressing Jörmundur.

"Nasuada."

Imrik considered this. She was young, in mourning and brave. Everything they needed in the public front. But her grief would make her weak, allowing her mind to be more open to council and more closed to questioning it. "_They want a puppet._" He said with finality to Gwihir. The dragon snorted.

"_She has steel in her. She will give them a run for their money if they try to make her go in a direction she doesn't want to._" Said the dragon, cracking an eye open to stare at each council member in turn, making each look away before the predatory gaze of his sea-green eyes.

"That seems a wise choice. She will be accepted, loved and respected by the Varden." Said Imrik shortly.

"Yes, exactly!" replied Sabrae extravagantly. "Ajihad's funeral will be in two days. Directly afterwards, we plan to appoint Nasuada. You and Eragon will both be there to recognise her – so no-one, not ever Hrothgar, could complain – and to swear fealty to the Varden."

"Fealty!" exclaimed Imrik, his temper roused. "You want me to swear fealty?" his eyes smouldered with anger as he turned his full attention on the council. Gwihir arches his neck to stare at each of the council members again. He growled menacingly.

The council jumped back with a start and Falberd half rose from his chair before Imrik turned his gaze of him. "Sit." Imrik spat out. He did. "Now hear me, Council of Elders, for my words will mean something. I will not swear fealty to an organisation that my people have no influence in. It is folly. You try to trick me into your service, so you may have a Rider and an elf in your pocket? Well I see your deception as clear as your own limbs. I am a Prince of Caledor, a Dragon Prince! You shall have no oath from me!"

Imrik let the light of the Asur shine forth fully from his face, illuminating the room and lighting up his feature, making them appear pure, holy and wrathful. The council fell back before him, Jörmundur flinching, the two other men falling out of their chairs and attempting to draw swords from their belts. Sabrae shrieked and dived beneath the table. Elessari drew her dagger and pointed it at him, but her hand shook and her eyes were full of terror.

"I will attend Nasuada's appointment, but I shall swear no oath. I suggest you rethink how important you really are in this world, council members. Jörmundur," he said the last part with a small duck of the head to the human, which he replied in kind. "We take our leave." He said as he swept from the room, dampening the glow so as not to appear deadly but still angry. Outside Jarsha was sitting at the door. Imrik swept past him, paused and turned to face the boy. He took an ilthilmar piece from his purse, a common coin in Ulthuan, and gave it to the boy. "For services rendered." He said to an awestruck Jarsha before striding back to one of the main corridors out of Tronjheim and walking towards the gate. He would train to clear his head and release his anger.

(Time break)

After venting his frustrations on the target dummies, Imrik had cooled down enough to go to the library to read his book. He walked past the arch that served as an entrance and caught sight of Saphira's tail snaking behind one of the shelves. He turned to Gwihir.

"Let's us go see your love, my puppy." Said Imrik with a smirk.

"_Good to see your smile again, friend._" Responded Gwihir sarcastically but he still walked towards the shelf around which Saphira had disappeared. Chuckling, Imrik followed.

They wove through the shelves and arrived at an alcove deep in the library just in time to hear Arya say to Eragon with unexpected hostility, "You have overturned a lifetime of work!"

Imrik coughed lightly and the three turned to face him, Arya's hand flying to her sword hilt. Imrik smiled at her. "Gwihir and I came to read. We saw Saphira and decided to follow you. I hope we haven't interrupted anything?"

Arya's eyes flashed. "Have they spoken to you too? The council?" Imrik nodded yes. "And what did they ask of you? Was it fealty like Eragon? Or do they want more?"

"They asked my fealty. I said no, but I will recognise Nasuada as the leader of the Varden. then left." Replied Imrik, "Why? What happened to you?" he turned to Eragon.

"They asked me to swear fealty and to recognise Nasuada. Saphira and I tries to undermine them twice. Once by ignoring the oath of fealty, which failed, and twice ... by swearing fealty to Nasuada, rather than the Varden. I hope this pleases you?" Eragon asked tentatively. He seemed afraid of Arya's wrath. Imrik though his idea was a good one. He had circum-navigated the council for Nasuada would not be used by them as they wished. Imrik had to hold back a chuckle at their stupidity.

"So" Stated Arya, her eyes boring into Eragon.

"So" replied Eragon. He seemed to be thinking about something Arya had said before Imrik's arrival.

"_Arya's age. That's what Saphira says. She is over seventy and this seems to confuse him._" Said Gwihir, solving Imrik's conundrum.

"_He obviously knows little of elves._" Replied Imrik with a mental smirk. Gwihir snorted.

Arya leaned back in her chair. "Your position is not what I would wish, but better than I had hoped. I was impolite; Saphira ... and you, Eragon ... understand more than I thought. Your comprise will be accepted by the elves, though you must never forget your dept to us for Saphira. There would be not Riders without our efforts."

"The dept is burned into my blood and my palm." Replied Eragon solemnly. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Imrik took a seat at the table next to Arya and Gwihir hunkered down next to Saphira. She shuffled side-ways to allow him room. "You have been gone for such a long time," began Eragon, looking a little hopeful in prolonging the conversation. "Do you miss Ellesméra? Or did you live elsewhere?"

"Ellesméra was, and always shall be, my home," she said, looking beyond Eragon. Imrik knew that look. She was reminiscing of better times. "I have not lived in my family's house since I left for the Varden, when the walls and windows were draped with spring's first flowers. The times I've returned were only fleeting stays, vanishing flecks of memory by our measurement."

Sitting next to her, Imrik noticed she smelt of pine needles, a smell he had only smelt once. Pines didn't grown in many places in Ulthuan, only one in fact.

Chrace was the only kingdom that the trees seemed to be able to grow in. Imrik had been there when he was about twenty, joining a band of Chracian hunters hunting down a pride of white lions that had gotten out of control. The memory of running through the trees, one of the great hunter's axes in his hand, and coming face to face with one of the fearsome creatures, was etched into his conscious. It had been one of the hardest fights of his life, one on one against one of nature's most destructive hunters. He had eventually triumphed, cutting cleanly into the lion's next and killing it quickly. Afterwards, he had made an offering to Kurnus, the farther of his race and God of the Hunt, for being with him that day. He had made the lion's pelt into a cloak which he still wore when hunting or fighting in Chrace. In fact, he was pretty sure he had it with him in his saddle bags, but he would check later.

Bringing himself back from memory, Arya stood to leave. She turned to Imrik. "If you would care to put down that book you were planning to read, I would like to talk with you some more. Come." Then she began walking back towards the entrance.

Imrik turned to Eragon and rolled his eyes. "I never get a moment's peace. Either I'm battling foes on the battlefield or in the council chamber, training or talking. Gone are the days when one could sit and read a good book. Enjoy them while you can Eragon Shadeslayer. Goodbye." Imrik stood and Gwihir nodded his goodbye to Saphira before they followed Arya out of the Library.

(Time break)

They were in Arya's quarters, which were high in Tronjheim. Arya had wanted to know more of the gods and why Imrik's people believed in them, so he had told her.

"First and greatest, Asuryan, the Emperor of the Heavens, the Creator God. We believe that it is his plan that we follow and that he hold the Flame Eternal, the giver of life. He dwells alone in a great pyramid above the Heavens, ruling from his diamond throne. Because no mortal has gazed upon his face, all statues of him bear a mask. He is the judge between the disputes of the gods. He rarely meddles in mortal affairs, such as he did for Eragon, but he protects the Twin Thrones of Ulthuan." Arya nodded her understanding.

"Eragon must be special to your god for him to give you the power to save him. Either that, or you are special." Imrik shrugged, not knowing which was true.

"Next is Khaine, the Bloody Handed God. He is the god of war, murder, hatred and destruction. He is the destroyer, who represents to us that, in order for there to be life, there must be death. In order to have peace, there must be war and that in order to have love, there must be hatred and murder. Our dark cousins, the Druchii, worship him exclusively. This has corrupted them into a twisted and hateful race, the Dark Elves of Naggaroth." Imrik said this last part with a bitter edge to his voice. Although very few from Caledor had betrayed the trust of the Phoenix King, his kingdom had suffered greatly at the hands of raiders, stealing dragon eggs and killing the dragons as they slept.

Arya appeared shocked by the news of evil elves, which gave Imrik hope for the future. If Chaos truly didn't exist in this world, then maybe, just maybe, he could save his race from destruction. Imrik continued with his explanation. "Kurnus, the Hunter, is the lord of both forest and beast. He is the husband of Isha and the father of all elves. Wherever he travels, he is followed by a pack of baying hounds and when he sounds his horn, the Wild Hunt follows him. All hunters venerated Kurnus as he watches over them in the wilderness. He requires that a hunter never kills animals for sport, slaying only the wild and dangerous beasts, and only hunting enough game to eat. To offend him is to invite disaster, for his vengeance is swift and brutal. I once saw an elf shoot a deer for sport. As he went to collect his prize, the stag lunged up and skewered him upon its horns. That is the wrath of the Hunter."

Arya seemed sceptical of this but Imrik gave her a look that said, If you don't believe me, do it. Imrik carried on his narration. "Vaul is the Maker, the god of Smiths. He is crippled and blind, having challenged the War god in the wars of the Gods. Now he is chained to the furnace, forced to make great weapons for Khaine in the endless war against the great enemy. His priests also put out their eyes when they join the brotherhood. Although they may be blind, they are bestowed with the skill and shrewdness of their patron deity, and his sorrow and sadness for all he has done to protect our race. This allows the priest to draw upon the Winds of Magic and forge many enchanted weapons for the Lords of Ulthuan."

"Are all your gods male?" asked Arya, her eyebrows meeting and her eyes narrowed. "You said that both men and women fight in your culture, where are the female gods?"

Imrik chuckled, "Calm down. I was just getting to them. Firstly, there is Isha. She is the goddess of the harvest and of nature. She is always depicted as an elf woman full of life and beauty and she is considered the mother of the entire elven race. Her symbol is an all-seeing eye, shedding a single tear for her moral children, the elves. At the dawn of time, Asuryan decreed we would be prestigiously long-lived, but we would eventually grow tired of the world and die. Isha cried out at this, for she loved the elves above all her other creations, and wept a single tear.

The other elven gods are Lileath and Morai-Heg. Morai-Heg is the Crone Goddess of the Underworld. She is the Keeper of Souls and the Weaver of Prophecy. She sets the stars in the heavens, for she, and she alone, knows the future. Thus, the future may be read from the night sky. Ravens are said to be her messengers and the Archer regiments hark their calls. They say it does not do to mock Morai-Heg, for she knows when their arrows will find their mark. Personally I agree with them. And last, but far from least, is Lileath, the maiden goddess. She is the goddess of the moon, purity and forgiveness. She reads the heart of each elf and judges them, not on what they have done, but on what they seek to do. What most don't know is her relationship with the Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe. She is their only hope of salvation. They have sworn to kill every last Dark Elf, never to rest until their entire race is dead. They believe if they do this, the Maiden will forgive them their sins in the war and welcome them back into elven society. That is all for our gods. Is there anything else you wish to know?" Imrik asked as he sat next to her on her bed.

She stared into his eyes, her emerald ones meeting his sea-green. "Thank you Imrik. This has been enlightening. That is all I wish to know. Is there anything you wish to know of my culture?" she asked lightly, her musical voice like a forest waterfall.

"What? And spoil the talk for the journey there?" he asked with a laugh. Arya joined him, her laugh tinkling like ice crystals. Imrik thought it was a beautiful sound, and that she needed to laugh more often. They sat there on her bed, laughing for a few minutes before she rose. Imrik followed her to his feat.

"Thank you Imrik, for this time. It is nice to have the company of one so close to my own race. I value your friendship." She said, holding his hand.

Imrik squeezed it lightly. "And I, yours. It is always a pleasure spending time with you. I think I could be happy in this world with you as a friend, if I didn't have the responsibility of returning home. Perhaps one-day, when I return home after this war, I will come back to this world with a few of my race. If it would be agreeable with your people, we could set up a small city on the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden and we could visit one-another."

"That would be nice." She agreed, smiling.

"Until tomorrow then." Said Imirk as he head to the door.

"Until tomorrow, my friend." She said as he closed the door.

(time break)

Imrik was lying on his bed, reading his book for the first time in days, when Eragon, Saphira and Orik came in. Imrik stood and smiled at his friends. "Are you better today Eragon? I heard from Saphira you had a fit of pain. I am sorry to have caused you pain, but I cannot question my Lord when he only interferes in mortal affairs when it suits him." Imrik's face fell slightly.

"Yes, I am a little better. Don't worry over what has happened, for you had no control over it." Smiled Eragon in response. "You saved my life."

Imrik smiled again. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked to the group at large.

"Hrothgar wishes to speak with you both, if you are free." Said Orik.

"Of course. I will be honoured to talk with him again." Said Imrik, strapping on his sword and walking out of the room with Gwihir, behind Saphira and Eragon. Orik lead them down a side passage to avoid the wreckage of Isidar Mithrim and Imrik was glad. He still hadn't returned to look at the shattered gem. He wasn't sure if he could bear it. When they arrived at the door, the dwarven guards pounded their mattocks and the doors swung inwards. The two dragons and their Riders advanced down the long hall with the statues of past dwarf monarchs gazing down on them.

When they reached the foot of the great black throne, Imrik and Eragon bowed. The dwarf king inclined his head, the rubies in his crown glittering in the half light of the lanterns. "Shadeslayer, Rider Imrik, welcome to my hall. You have both done much since we last met. It seems I was proven wrong about Zar'roc. Morzan's blade will be welcomed in Tronjheim as long as you bear it." So that was what Eragon's sword was named. Zar'roc, Misery in the Ancient Language if Imrik remembered correctly.

"Thank you," said Eragon, rising. Imrik rose with him.

"Also, we wish you to keep the armour you wore in the battle of Farthen dur. Even now, our most skilled smiths are repairing it. The dragon armour is being treated likewise, and when it is restored, Saphira may use it as long as she wishes, or until she outgrows it. This is the least we can do to show our gratitude. If it weren't for the war with Galbatorix, there would be feasts and celebrations in your name ... but those must wait until more appropriate times."

"You are generous beyond all expectations we will cherish such noble gifts." Replied Eragon.

The king appeared pleased with this, and turned to Imrik. "We are sorry we could not gift you anything, Rider Imrik, but do not take it as a slight. Gwihir already has his own armour and you have your magnificent set. Asking you to wear ours would have most likely put you in danger." Imrik nodded his understanding and smiled at the dwarf king.

"There is no slight. We were honoured to fight on the same field as you, King Hrothgar." He said with a small bow of the head.

Hrothgar nodded. "We cannot linger on pleasantries sadly. I am besieged by the clans with demands that I do one thing or another about Ajihad's successor. When the Council of Elders proclaimed yesterday that they would support Nasuada, it created an uproar the likes of which I haven't seen since I ascended to the throne. The chiefs had to decide whether to accept Nasuada or look for another candidate. Most have concluded that Nasuada should lead the Varden, but I wish to know here you two stand on this before I lend my word to either side. The worst thing a king can do is look foolish."

"We have decided to support her. I believe Eragon and Saphira have decided to do that same. I would recommend you lend yourself to her side, King Hrothgar." Said Imrik with a solemn voice.

"The Varden need unity. They can't afford to fight now." Added Eragon.

"Oeí," said Hrothgar, leaning back in his throne, "You speak with a new authority, Eragon. Your suggestion is a good one, but it will cost you both a question: Do you think Nasuada will be a wise leader, or are there other motives in choosing her?"

Eragon's lips twitched into a half smile and Imrik smirked, knowing Hrothgar's game. Eragon glanced at him and Imrik nodded his ascension. "Both Imrik and I think her wise and canny beyond her years. She will be good for the Varden."

"And that is why you support her?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Hrothgar nodded. "That relieves me. There has been too little concern lately with what is right and good, and more about what will bring individual power. It is hard to watch such idiocy and not be angry."

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room. Eragon broke it by asking, "What will be done with the dragonhold? Will a new floor be laid down?"

The king's eyes grew mournful, deepening the lines that surrounded them, making the king appear even more ancient than ever. Imrik had never seen a dwarf come so close to tears. "Much talk is needed before that step can be taken. It was a terrible deed, what Arya, Saphira and you two did. Maybe necessary, but terrible. Ah, it might have been better if the Urgals had overrun us before Isidar Mithrim was ever broken. The heart of Tronjheim has been shattered, and so has ours." Hrothgar places his fist over where his heart should be. He slowly unclenched his hand and once more gripped his war hammer, Volund.

"You are not alone in your grief, King Hrothgar. I too mourn the breaking of the Star Rose. I am sure word has reached your ears of what transpired the last time I saw the ruin that I had helped smote." Imrik replied solemnly. Hrothgar nodded his head in agreement and understanding.

"King Hrothgar, Saphira wishes to know if the dwarves have the skill to reconstruct Isidar Mithrim?" asked Eragon. Imrik looked at him, then at Saphira, wondering what the dragon would want to do with the reconstructed jewel.

"_We will remake it._" Came his answer. Gwihir sounded strong and sure about this. "_Saphira has said that dragons can perform great feats of magic in this world. Together, we shall remake the Star Rose._" Imrik was astounded by this revelation, so much so that he almost missed Hrothgar's reply.

"The skill we have, but what of it? The task would take months if not years, and the end result would be a ruined mockery of the beauty that once graced Tronjheim! It is an abomination I will not sanction."

Saphira and Gwihir stared unblinkingly at the king. Imrik spoke up. "The dragons believe that if the gem was reconstructed, not one piece missing, they could make it whole once more."

Eragon and Hrothgar wore similar looks of astonishment. Eragon turned to Saphira and had a silent conversation. Hrothgar seemed to awed for words. When he finally found them he straighten with an exclamation. "Is it even possible? Not even the elves might attempt such a feat."

"They are confident in their abilities." Replied Imrik and Eragon in sync with each other.

"Then we will rebuild Isidar Mithrim, no matter if it takes a hundred years. We will assemble a frame for the gem and set each piece into its original place. Not a single chip will be forgotten. Even if we must break the larger pieces to move them, it will be done with all our skill in working stone, so that no dust or flecks are lost. You will come then, when we are finished and heal the Star Rose."

"We will come." Answered Imrik confidently, before bowing low. Eragon mirrored the movement.

Hrothgar smiled and it was like watching stone split. "Such joy have you given me, Saphira and Gwihir. I feel once more a reason to rule and live. If you do this, dwarves everywhere will honour your name for uncounted generations. Go now with my blessing while I spread the tidings among the clans. And do not feel bound to wait upon my announcement, for no dwarf should be denied this news; convey it to all whom you meet. May the halls echo with the jubilation of our race."

With one more bow, the four departed, leaving the king smiling on his stone throne. Out in the hall, Eragon told Orik what had transpired. The dwarf immediately knelt and kissed the floor at the feat of each dragon. He rose with a grin and clasped each of the Rider's arms, saying, "A wonder indeed. You have given us exactly the hope we needed to combat recent events. There will be drinking tonight, I wager!"

"And tomorrow is the funeral." Reminded Eragon.

Orik sobered for a moment. "Tomorrow, yes. But until then we shall not let unhappy thoughts disturb us! Come!"

The dwarf grabbed them each by the hand and lead them through Tronjheim to one of the great feasting halls where many dwarves were sitting at stone tables eating. Orik leapt onto one, scattering plates and dishes to the floor and proclaimed in a booming voice the news of Isidar Mithrim. Imrik was nearly knocked over by the roars and cheers of the throng of dwarves. Each of them insisted on kissing the floor at the feat of the dragons. Plates were cleared away and stone tankards were brought out and filled with ale and mead.

Eragon grinned at Imrik and Imrik returned it. They both grabbed a tankard and joined in the revelry. Imrik tried to resist getting absolutely drunk, considering the next day's event, but couldn't resist a few pints of mead.

Even the dragons took a sip of the honey-liquor and, finding they liked it, the dwarves rolled out a cask for each. Carefully lowering his fearsome jaws into the open barrel, Gwihir swiftly drained his cask before lifting his head high and unleashing a fearsome jet of flame into the sky. Saphira followed mere seconds later, mirroring his actions. It took the two Riders several minutes to convince the dwarves it was safe to approach them again, but when they did, the dwarves rolled out another barrel for each – overriding the cook's protests – and watched in amazement as they drained them as well.

As Gwihir became increasingly drunk, his emotions and thoughts began to wash into Imrik's mind. Swirls of colour began to slip into his vision, smells became more pungent. Imrik had to concentrate greatly to receive any information from his own senses, even though he was barely at his limit of drink.

The dwarves began to sing together. Gwihir and Saphira began to weave next to each other, humming along and punctuating each line with a roar. Eragon took up the song, not in his own voice, but that of a dragon. Imrik laughed and sang along to the song in High elven, his happiness lifting all barriers around him, letting all of his stress and sorrow wash from him.

Dwarves continued to stream into the hall as the word spread of Isidar Mithrim. Hundreds packed the tables, with a thick ring around the two dragons and Eragon. Imrik had lost himself in the crowd and was now on a bench nearby, surrounded by happily chattering dwarves. Orik called for musicians who sat in a corner and pulled green velvet covers off their instruments. Soon harps, lutes and silver flutes added their sweet melodies to the general uproar of the song.

Many hours passed, along with many tankards of ale, when the noise began to quieten. When it did, Orik leapt up on a table once more, tankard in hand, his iron cap sideways on his head and his legs spread wide for balance. "Hear, Hear!" he cried, "At last we have celebrated as is proper. The Urgals are gone, the Shade is dead, and we have won!" The dwarves pounded their tankards on the table and their feet on the floor.

"Hazzah!" cried Imrik, lifting his tankard high. On his second shout the dwarves around him joined in the cry. On the third and final shout, the whole hall rank with the echoes. As they settled down again Orik finished his speech. "To Saphira and Gwihir! And to Imrik and Eragon!" he proclaimed, lifting his tankard high. This too was well received. Eragon stood and bowed, as did Imrik, which brought more cheers. Beside Eragon, the two dragons reared next to each other and swung a foreleg across their chests, attempting to duplicate the move. Unfortunately for Gwihir, the bow Imrik had made was a courtly bow, causing you to slide a foot back and place a hand behind your back as well as over your chest. This resulted in a very confused dragon overbalancing and falling sideways. The dwarves around the dragons realised the danger and dived for cover as Saphira also toppled. With a resounding boom the two drakes hit the stone floor, throwing Orik from the table and causing Eragon to collapse. Imrik tottered, sat down on the bench and slumped backwards into the black of unconsciousness.

**A/N: Well there you have it. Next chapter as you can guess will be the funeral. Hope you liked it! Remember to review!**

**Caledor54**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**A/N: ****Ok. New chapter. Imrik does some more elfy stuff and Arya is nice? Chapters are going from Requiem to Hrothgar's gift. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will.**

Imrik groaned as he came to. His head ached and his body protested as he slowly righted himself from the position he had left himself in last night. He struggled to remember the events that had led up to his collapse. He himself had not been drunk but Gwihir's inebriation had affected him greatly. He chuckled slightly at the memory of Gwihir's bow, looking over at the sleeping dragon.

He stood and swayed slightly. Ajihad's funeral was to commence today and he had to dress appropriately, let alone not smell of alcohol. "Damn all dwarfish drink." He muttered as he made his way back to his room. It was still early, before dawn in fact, and he had plenty of time to freshen up. After dunking his head in a bucket of cold water, Imrik felt much better. Drying himself with magic, he proceeded to look out a suitable raiment for the occasion. He just hoped funerals were similar here as they were in Ulthuan.

"_Imrik. Where have you run off to? Orik is here trying to wake Eragon._" Gwihir's voice sounded slightly fragile and tired. Imrik sent the mental equivalent of a smirk down their link and told him he was changing.

"_Well hurry up. You will be late if you're not down here soon._" Grumbled Gwihir as he withdrew from Imrik's mind. Imrik smirked outwardly as he began to dress himself.

What he had chosen to wear was the best garments he had in his saddlebags. He always carried his travelling gear, a tunic and leggings suited to his rank, and robe that was richly decorated over that.

Now he was adorned in a rich green tunic that was embroidered with a white dragon and gold trimmed in a flame-like pattern. His leggings were also trimmed in gold similar to his tunic. His robe – which fell to his ankles and split at the waist to form a kind of trouser legs, only open towards the inside – was a pure grey with golden runes running across the chest and down past the waist where they met a patch of bright white flames. The runes signified everything it was to be a prince of Caledor. Ferocity, Nobility, Defiance, Pride and Dragons. Around his waist he wore a belt of entwined ilthilmar bands and leather, dotted with jewels. His sword was buckled onto his waist. On his head rested his most precious item of clothing.

A crown.

It was shaped like three mountain peaks, the middle taller than the other two, and was made of gold and emerald. The peaks themselves stretched up above Imrik's head about three or so inches. The rest of the crown was not solid, but made of interlocking links which allowed Imrik to transport it in a plain, Blackwood box with a single rune inscribed upon it.

Lordship.

As Imrik set this crown upon his head, he felt the power that the countless prince before him had stored in the object. It practically glowed under its own light and any with mage-sight could see that the bearer was not to be trifled with. Finally, Imrik pulled on his black leather boots and buckled on a white cape that brushed the floor, the emblem of his house embroidered on the back, flames along the bottom.

He jogged down to the feast hall he had been in last night to find Eragon groaning and moaning, pulling on some clothes. Imrik smirked at Gwihir before walking over to Eragon and Orik. The dwarf turned to look at him and raised his eyebrows. Imrik smiled and turned to Eragon who was squinting at him as if he was a bright light. Imrik realised he had let the light of the Asur fade out onto his skin so that he looked ethereal and other-worldly. He was about to repress it but reconsidered it, thinking of the ceremony ahead. It was best that everyone saw he was from another world and would honour Ajihad in his own way.

They hurried to the south gate of the city. "We must start from there because that is where the procession with Ajihad's body stopped three days ago. His journey to the grave cannot be interrupted, or else his spirit will find no rest." He explained, his small legs betraying his speed as they hurried forward.

"An odd custom." Remarked Imrik. Usually on Ulthuan, when an elf died, all in the city that had known them would sing a lament for the passing of the individual while the body was given over to the priests of Morai-Heg, where it was buried on the Isle of the Dead. When elves were slain in battle, the whole army would sing the lament and offer the bodies of the slain to Asuryan's fire.

"Aye it may be to some, but as he is to be buried within Tronjheim and by the Varden, we must adhere to their customs." Said the dwarf.

"He will be buried in Tronjheim? Where?" asked Eragon.

"That has been a matter of contention among the clans. When a dwarf dies, we believe he must be sealed in stone or else he will never join his ancestors ... it is complex and I cannot say more to an outsider ... but we go to great lengths to assure such a burial. Shame falls on a family or clan if they allow any of their own to lie in a lesser element. "Under Farthen Dûr exists a chamber that is the home of all knurlan, all dwarves, who have died here. It is there Ajihad will be taken. He cannot be entombed with us, as he is human, but a hallowed alcove has been set aside for him. There the Varden may visit him without disturbing our sacred grottos, and Ajihad will receive the respect he is due." Explained Orik.

"Your king has done much for the Varden." Commented Eragon.

"Some think too much." Was the dwarf's reply.

Before the gate, which was drawn up to show a pale shaft of daylight into Farthen Dûr, was a carefully arranged column. Ajihad lay at the front, cold and peaceful on a white marble brier borne by six men in black armour. On his head was a helm encrusted with precious stones. His hands clasped the ivory hilt of his sword, which was hidden beneath a shield which covered his legs and abdomen. He wore silver mail, like moonlight had engulfed his body, which weighed down his limbs, making his death all the more apparent.

Close behind was Nasuada –grave and cloaked in black, tears adorned her countenance though she stood tall and proud. To the side stood Hrothgar, regally cloaked; then Arya; the Council of Elders, all with remorseful expressions which were as transparent as water, except Jörmundur, then a long line of mourners. Every doorway and arch along the four-story corridor was crammed with mourners.

All eyes turned to them as they entered, flicking across Orik, resting on Eragon, then widening at Imrik. Jörmundur beckoned to them to join him. Imrik raised an eyebrow at the available space before walking to stand next to Arya, Gwihir in tow, as Eragon and Saphira picked their way to Jörmundur's side, earning a glare from Sabrae. Orik stood beside Hrothgar.

No-one moved. They waited in the stillness of the halls, the lanterns, half shuttered, gave off an ethereal glow that reminded Imrik of the twilight of his home. A single plume of incense drifted up from the bier, an undulation coil of smoke that was the only sign that the moment had not been frozen in time forever.

Deep in Tronjheim, a drum sounded, its deep report filling the halls. _Boom. _The sound resonated into the bones of the mountain, echoing like a bell.

They stepped forwards.

_Boom._ On the second beat, a lower drum melded with the first, making an inexorable rolling wave of sound, giving each step a purpose and gravity. It propelled them along at a noble pace, allowing the full weight of what had happened to be felt throughout the column. It pulled up emotions that Imrik had been suppressing since his breakdown in the central chamber. Now he let them roll through him, but at a measured pace.

_Boom._

When the tunnel ended, the bearers paused before they walked through the wreckage of Isidar Mithrim. Arya's hand slipped its way into his own and he took comfort in her care for him. He smiled a sad smile and let the tears fall. The slowly made their way through the crystal graveyard, each piece piercing Imrik's mind like a knife. He focused on Arya's hand, the warm beating of the blood under her skin, to restrain himself from grief.

_Boom._

The bearers continued forwards. The marched down a broad flight of stairs to the tunnels below. They passed stone houses where dwarf children sat and watched with wide eyes as the column moved deeper into the labyrinth.

_Boom._

With a final crescendo, they halted under ribbed stalactites that branched over a great catacomb lined with alcoves. In each alcove lay a tomb carved with a name and clan crest. There must have been thousands, tens of thousands, of tombs. It was dark, save for the sparsely hung red lanterns that never wavered, casting a constant light in a place where only one thing was constant.

After a moment, the bearers strode into a small room annexed from the main chamber. In the centre, on a raised platform, was a great crypt open to waiting darkness. On the top was carved in runes:

_May all. Knurlan, Humans and Elves,_

_Remember_

_This Man._

_For he was Noble, Strong, and Wise._

_Gûntera Arûna_

When the mourners where gathered around, Ajihad was lowered into the crypt, and those who had known his personally were allowed to approach. Imrik was just in front of Nasuada. As he ascended the podium, he thought of all those who he knew that had died in war. The list was too long. Looking down on Ajihad's noble face, Imrik's only words were thus, "Be at peace, Son of Man." he stepped back to allow Gwihir to bow his head before the crypt before stepping down.

Nasuada knelt down at her father's side, grasping his hand. With a groan she began to sing in a strange, wailing language, filling the cavern with her lamentations. Then twelve dwarves slid a lid over the face of Ajihad, and he was no more.

As Nasuada finished her song, Imrik lifted his own voice. Nasuada stopped and looked shocked as the elven prince began to sing in his own tongue, a song of regret and sacrifice.

"Ar sindan...óriello...caita, mornië ar ilyë. Tier undulávë lumbulë. Da, ... i eh, tel, le lina manna lelyalye, Volomirë? Cánalya ... desse. Si massë…. Melin… i mar, i mar, i beri…. Ú-velin i … ve…." He finished his song and bowed his head before sweeping from the chamber.

Time break

Imrik saw Eragon stifle a yawn as the amphitheatre filled with people. He couldn't blame him. Although Eragon was competent in battle and magic, he was little more than a boy and should not have consumed such a vast quantity of ale and mead last night. The echoes of the voices of the Varden and the dwarves talking about the funeral couldn't be helping the headache he surely had.

They sat on the lowest tier of the ringed stone semi-circle, level with the stage. With them were Arya, Orik, the Council, Hrothgar and Nasuada. Saphira couched on the stairs to Eragon's immediate left, Gwihir to Imrik's right. Imrik saw Orik, who was next to Eragon, lean in and say something about why they were choosing the leader here, but Imrik wasn't terrible interested. He cared little for the formalities of other races at this point, so wrapped in his own thoughts as he was. He only brought himself back to the proceedings when Jörmundur took the stage.

"People of the Varden, we last stood here fifteen years ago, at Deynor's death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to oppose the Empire and Galbatorix than any before. He won countless battles against superior forces. He nearly killed Durza, putting a scratch on the Shade's blade. And greatest of all, he welcomed Rider Eragon and Rider Imrik, along with Saphira and Gwihir, into Tronjheim. However, a new leader must be chosen, one who will win us even more glory."

Someone above them shouted, "Shadeslayer!"

Eragon flinched slightly, but otherwise didn't react. Jörmundur hardly blinked before answering, "Perhaps in years to come, but he has other duties and responsibilities now. No, the Council of Elders has thought long on this: we need one who understands our needs and wants, one who has lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when battle was imminent."

Ripples of understanding flowed through the amassed Varden. The name was whispered by a thousand tongues before Jörmundur confirmed their thoughts. "Nasuada." He bowed and stepped aside.

Arya took to the stage. She surveyed the audience before saying, "The elves honour Ajihad tonight ... And on behalf of Queen Islanzadí, I recognise Nasuada's ascension and offer her the same support and friendship we extended to her father. May the stars watch over her."

Hrothgar stepped up and declared roughly, "I too support Nasuada, as do the clans." Then he moved aside. Imrik rose.

"We recognise Nasuada as leader, and offer her the support of Caledor and the Phoenix King of Ulthuan." Then he added in High elven, "**May the gods guide you, daughter of war.**" He stepped down to whispers from the Varden. The quietened down when Eragon rose to the stage.

"We support Nasuada as well." Saphira growled to affirm this.

Pledges spoken, the Council of Elders lined themselves on the edges of the stage, Jörmundur at their head. Bearing herself with dignity few could muster in a time of grief, Nasuada approached and knelt before Jörmundur, her dress spreading out like a pool of ink. Raising his voice, Jörmundur said, "By the right of inheritance and succession, we have chosen Nasuada. By merit of her father's achievements and the blessings of her peers, we have chosen Nasuada. I now ask you: have we chosen well?"

The crowd roared, "Yes!"

Jörmundur nodded. "Then by the power granted to this council, we pass the privileges and responsibilities accorded to Ajihad to his only descendant, Nasuada." He gently placed a silver circlet on her head. Taking her hand, he lifted her upright gently and pronounced, "I give you our new leader!"

The cheering and stamping and the banging of weapons on shields rang throughout the chamber for ten minutes before it subsided. Imrik caught Sabrae motioning to Eragon, before glaring at him. Imrik glared back at her, his eyes cold as the northern sea.

All noise stopped.

As Eragon approached, Imrik saw the council looked smug, half concealed smiles – or in Sabrae's case, outright distain – were evident throughout. Arya stood behind them and nodded Eragon on encouragingly. Imrik winked at him, a smirk of his own creeping onto his face.

Eragon reached Nasuada and Jörmundur. He drew Zar'roc and presented it, hilt first, and lifted it. It hung between Jörmundur and Nasuada before Eragon spoke, swinging the ruby pommel towards Nasuada. "Out of deep respect ... and appreciation of the difficulties facing you ... I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden," at which Imrik snorted slightly, "Shadeslayer and Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada."

The Varden and dwarves were shocked into silence. Imrik looked over at the council as rage flashed through their features, even motherly Elessari dropped her calm front to glare daggers at Eragon. Their looks gave a clear message, "You betrayed us." Imrik smiled broadly as their glares found him. He winked at Sabrae.

Nasuada smiled and gripped the hilt of Zar'roc, placing the red tip upon Eragon's head. "I am honoured that you chose to serve me, Rider Eragon. I accept, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise me vassal and take your sword."

Eragon did so, then stepped back with Saphira. The crowd roared their approval. Turning to the crowd, Nasuada gripped the podium on the stage with both hands. "People of the Varden!"

Silence ruled for a her next words.

"As my father did before me, I give me life to you and our cause. I will never cease fighting until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead and Alagaësia is free once more!"

More cheering and applause.

"Therefore, I say to you, now is the time to prepare. Here in Farthen Dûr –after endless skirmishes – we have won our greatest battle. It is our turn to strike back. Galbatorix is weak after losing so many forces, and there will never again be such an opportunity. Therefore, I say again, now is the time to prepare so that we may once more stand victorious!"

After a few more boring speeches to which Imrik paid very little attention, he stood to leave with Eragon, only to be stooped by Orik. The dwarf was wide-eyed when he asked, "Eragon, Imrik, did you plan all that beforehand?"

Eragon hesitated briefly before telling Orik that they did.

Orik exhaled and shook his head. "That was a bold stroke, it was. You've given Nasuada a strong position to begin with. It was dangerous though, if the Council of Elders are anything to judge by. Did Arya approve of this?"

"She agreed it was the best option." Said Imrik.

"I'm sure it was." Said the dwarf surveying Eragon thoughtfully. "You just altered the balance of power, Eragon. No one will underestimate you again because of it ... beware the rotten stone. You have earned some powerful enemies today." He slapped Eragon on the side and continued on out of the chamber. Eragon looked up at Saphira, then at Imrik.

Imrik smiled. "Do not be troubled. They hate me more than you. Now let us find a drink shall we? Perhaps a few barrels of mead shall slake our thirst?" he asked, his eyes sliding towards Saphira and his smile turning to a smirk. Saphira let out a puff of smoke and stomped past, Imrik and Eragon chuckling as Gwihir followed suit, but not before snapping at Imrik to tell him to stop. Imrik had no such ideas and the two Riders followed their dragons out of the hall, laughing together.

Time break

Later that night Imrik was just getting ready for bed when he was surprised by a knocking on his door. When he opened it, he was even more surprised, even a little confused. In front of his stood Eragon. The boy hung his head slightly, scuffed his feat against the floor and looked up at Imrik with pleading eyes. Imrik stood aside without a word and allowed the boy in.

"What happened, my friend?" enquired the elf once he had shut the door, turning to face Eragon as he sat on his bed.

"Saphira and I had a ... disagreement." He answered slowly. Imrik nodded his head for him to continue. "A woman, Trianna, from Du Vrangr Gata, was in my chambers when I returned there. We seemed to be getting on well and I was going to eat dinner with her when Saphira interrupted and scared her off. She is being paranoid and overprotective and jealous! How am I supposed to find a woman if Saphira is so jealous of another having my affections?" the boy grunted in frustration and slammed a fist into the soft bedding. Imrik came and sat next to him.

"Eragon, I understand how you feel, for I too went through these feelings. You must try to understand Saphira's point of view though. If you become romantically involved with a woman, her feeling to will change towards that person." Said Imrik, his tone solemn. "Also, consider well the implications of your love. From what I have read, Riders are immortal. What will happen if you marry a girl, a mortal girl? Could you deal with the emotional blow of watching your love grow old and die in your arms as you stay as young as ever?"

Imrik could tell that Eragon had not thought of that, and that it now hit the youth, the full extent of the meaning of the word, _immortal_. "Get some sleep, Eragon. I will wake you in the morning. Go, take the bed." Said Imrik after a few minutes. Eragon mumbled a response and crawled under the covers and Imrik stepped down to Gwihir and lay down next to him.

"_Did I handle that correctly? I hope I didn't hit him too hard." _Imrik questioned Gwihir.

The dragon snorted. "_The truth must be learnt young. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger for it. All it means is he will now look at Arya and any other female elf in a slightly different manner. The teenage years can be rather trying on a man." _Imrik nodded his understanding before closing his eyes to sleep.

The next morning, he woke Eragon and sent the youth back to his room. After donning a fresh tunic, he made his way down to breakfast. They met up with Eragon and Saphira along the way and was pleased to see that they were speaking and smiling again. As they ate, the dragons tearing into haunches of meat, the Riders eating fish and mushrooms, Jarsha appeared. Like before he stared at Gwihir. Imrik assumed that Saphira received a similar treatment when Jarsha fetched Eragon for the Council because she hardly looked up.

"Yes?" asked Eragon, wiping the juice of a mushroom from his chin.

"Nasuada would like to see you both in her study, milords." Responded the boy in an awestruck tone.

"Milord? When did we become lords Eragon?" asked Imrik in a jovial voice. Jarsha blushed red in embarrassment. "Eragon is a Rider, so address him as sir. I am a prince. Do you know how to address a prince, Jarsha?" he asked jokingly.

Jarsha shook his head no.

"Well the honorific for royalty is grace. So you would say to me, _your grace_. Do you understand?" asked Imrik with a smile. Jarsha shook his head yes. "Good. Now you have learned something important for when you are squire to the new ruler of Alagaësia." He added with a wink. The boy's eyes got wide and he practically bounced all the way to Ajihad's old study. Upon arrival, Imrik handed him another coin. When they were allowed in by the guards, Imrik admired Nasuada's ingenuity. A delicate fragrance drifted through the room from a vase of purple blossomed flowers. This reminded Imrik, oddly, of his home in Caledor. The long corridors of stone, tapestries hanging from the walls and his siblings around him, laughing and playing in the sun.

Nasuada herself sat behind the same desk Ajihad had sat behind when he had first welcomed them into the Varden. She was still sable-cloaked, mourning her father. As the two Riders seated themselves and the dragons crouched down behind them, she said "Riders." It was simple, not hostile nor friendly. Merely stating the truth. Imrik felt she had many of the qualities possessed by her father. She turned away for a second before focusing in on Eragon, then Imrik. Her gaze was of steel and determination. "I have spent the last few days reviewing the Varden's affairs, such as they are. It was a dismal exercise. We are poor, over-extended, and low on supplies, and few recruits are joining us from the Empire. I mean to change that.

"The dwarves cannot support us much longer, as it's been a lean year for farming and they've suffered losses of their own. Considering this, I have decided to move the Varden to Surda. It's a difficult proposition, but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surda, we will finally be close enough to engage the Empire directly."

Imrik considered this. "_It would take a lot of work, time and resources to get the Varden to Surda." _He said to Gwihir as the dragon grumbled in surprise. "_Though they hardly have another option._"

"_they will probably be attacked along the way. How do we know if they will even make it to Surda, and if the king there will help Nasuada?" _asked the dragon in response.

"_They will have to help because we have the last free Rider in Alagaësia. Eragon is the figure head of the rebellion now, whether he wants to be or not." _Replied Imrik. Gwihir grunted his response.

"I thought King Orrin didn't dare openly oppose Galbatorix." protested Eragon.

Nasuada smiled grimly, "His stance has changed since we defeated the Urgals. He will shelter and feed us and fight by our side. Many of the Varden are already in Surda, mainly woman and children who couldn't or wouldn't fight. They will also support us, else I will strip our name from them."

"How did you communicate with King Orrin so quickly?" asked Eragon.

"The lanterns." Answered Imrik, the pieces clicking. "The dwarves have a system of lanterns inside Tronjheim for relaying messages, it makes sense that they would use it throughout the Beors. A message could be sent to the nearest dwarf outpost to Surda from here. From there, a runner could carry the message to King Orrin."

"Yes, that's how it works, though I wish to set up something quicker between Du Vrangr Gata and Hrothgar's magicians." Nasuada said, before opening a draw in her desk and pulling out a thick scroll. "the Varden will depart Farthen Dûr within the month. Hrothgar has agreed to provide us with safe passage through the tunnels. Moreover, he sent a force to Orthíad to remove the last vestiges of the Urgals and seal the tunnels so no one can invade the dwarves by that route again. As this may not be enough to guarantee the Varden's survival, I have a favour to ask of both of you."

Eragon nodded, as did Imrik. He was open to requests, whether he followed them or not depended on their manner. "I am yours to command." Said Eragon.

"Perhaps," she said, her eyes flicking to Saphira, "In any case, this is not a command, and I want you to think carefully before replying. To help rally support for the Varden, I wish to spread word throughout the Empire that two new Riders – named Eragon Shadeslayer and Imrik of Caledor – and their dragons, Saphira and Gwihir, have joined our cause. I would like your permission before doing so, however."

Imrik shrugged. "If you are worried about Galbatorix no longer wanting me as an ally, then rest easy. Let him come, so he may meet with my blade. He will fear my name before the end." He said this off-handed, but none could mistake the deadly edge that crept into his voice. "Also Nasuada, if you are going to boast about us, I will have my full title. I am a Dragon Prince of Caledor, a Daemonslayer of all accounts. Put that to your boasts, and see the reaction." He finished smugly.

Eragon and Saphira had a long mental conversation whereas Gwihir merely rolled his eyes at Imrik's arrogance. Imrik smirked at his dragon. Finally Eragon and Saphira gave their consent and they moved on to a different conversation topic.

"I expect both of you to travel to Ellesméra to complete your training." She said.

"With Arya?" asked Eragon.

"Of course. The elves have refused contact with both humans and dwarves ever since she was captured. Arya is the only being who can convince them to emerge from seclusion."

"Couldn't she use magic to tell them of her rescue?" asked Eragon again.

"Nay, the elves have put up wards around the forest that prevents anything arcane from entering their borders, but not from leaving it. Arya must physically go to Du Weldenvarden and see the queen before they will know of her rescue."

"Exactly," said Nasuada, holding out the scroll to Eragon. "This is a missive for Queen Islanzadí, telling her about the Varden's situation and my own plans. Guard it with your life; it would be disastrous if this fell into the wrong hands. I hope that after all that's happened, Islanzadí will feel kindly enough towards us to reinitiate diplomatic ties. Her assistance could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Arya knows this and has agreed to press our case, but I wanted you aware of the situation too, so you could both take advantage of any opportunities that might arise."

Eragon tucked away the scroll and Imrik nodded his understanding. "When do we leave?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning ... unless you have something already planned?" she replied.

"No." They answered in unison.

"Good." She clasped her hands. "you should both know, one other person will be travelling with you." Eragon looked quizzical but Imrik had guessed it. "King Hrothgar insisted that in the interest of fairness there should be a dwarf representative present at your training, since it affects their race as well. So he's sending Orik along."

Imrik thought about the decision. It was true that Hrothgar had a right to see their training fulfilled by a dwarf, because it did affect his race. Also, it would give Eragon someone else to talk to when Arya was distant to him. Speaking with one who's race is so far removed from your own can be a very large barrier for humans and dwarfs, or so Imrik had noticed. Arya was more free around him, he thought, because Imrik was an elf. Not an elf of her race, but an elf non-the-less.

Eragon seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, for he smiled and said, "Ah, well it will slow us down, but I suppose we have to placate Hrothgar. To tell the truth, I'm glad Orik is coming. Crossing Alagaësia with only Arya and you, Imrik, is a rather daunting prospect. Although I consider us friends, you and her ..."

Nasuada smiled. "They're different."

"Yes, we are." Said Imrik with a smirk.

"Do you really mean to attack the Empire? You said yourself that the Varden are weak. It doesn't seem like the wisest course. If we wait – "

"If we wait, the enemy's power grows. Strike while the iron is hot, and you can change the shape of the blade. I agree the Varden are weak, but Galbatorix is over-extended and open for a sucker punch. If you can slip under his guard, we could cause some serious damage to -his armies before he can hit back. His men with be disorganised and undisciplined – If I know anything of human armies – and unprepared for battle. Now id the opportune moment, and we must seize it with both hands." Said Imrik sternly.

"You mean invasion?" asked Eragon incredulously. Imrik looked at Nasuada who nodded in answer to his unasked question. Turning back to Eragon, Imrik said this:

"Well, we can't kill Galbatorix from here, now can we?"

Time break

After dinner, Imrik searched for Arya. He found her in the crystal cemetery of Isidar Mithrim. He stood motionless, Gwihir behind him, and waited in silence at a respectful distance behind her. She stood, still and straight as ever, on the very spot he too had stood when his grief had taken him. Suddenly overcome by a strange urge to comfort and protect her, he walked forward and placed a hand on her slim shoulder. She turned to face him.

"Many years have I walked this earth. I have seen and felt many things, yet I have found something more wondrous than them all. Two dragon Riders, one of them an elf from another world. Someone who understands me among these dwarves and humans. Someone I can treat as an equal. Someone who can put up a reasoned argument for their beliefs and back it up with proof, unlike the dwarves and their priests. I am glad I could meet you, Imrik Gwindorian, Prince of Caledor." She said, smiling at him. Imrik was once again struck by her beauty when she smiled.

Imrik smiled back. "And I you, Arya of Ellesméra. You have been a good friend to me in a world of strangers. If ever you find yourself in Ulthuan, simply ask any of my family, and they will help you. I name you elf-friend to my people."

She laughed lightly, most probably the most beautiful sounds Imrik had heard. "And I name you elf-friend to my people. Come, let us leave this sorrowful place and find a place to sing and watch the stars."

Imrik grinned and agreed. "_Come on, puppy._" Imrik said to Gwihir. When the dragon growled in response, Arya questioned him as to why he was angry. Gwihir simply replied with, _Nothing_, but Imrik saw a chance to tease his partner and took it with both hands.

"Ah, he simply upset about I jest with him over his love for Saphir – Ahh!" he cut of his speech with a sudden yell and Gwihir swung his head at him like a club. Imrik threw himself forward, rolling to lessen the impact. He came up kneeling, face to face with a very angry Gwihir.

"_Stop. It. Now." _He growled in Imrik's mind. "_And besides, what will Saphira say when she finds out from Arya that I find her attractive? She won't look at me or talk to me again!_"

"_Oh now that's just foolish!" _Replied Imrik hotly. "_She is the last female dragon in this world and you are the only free male dragon. How can she afford not to like you?_" Gwihir merely grunted his response, clearly not convinced. They continued walking with Arya looking at the two slightly oddly.

"So Gwihir, you find Saphira attractive?" she queried. He shook his head yes, his chin drooping in defeat. "Good, if you didn't we would have less hope for the dragons than we already had. Your arrival, both your arrivals, has stirred the ancient magic in the world. Do not despair." She said with a smile. Gwihir perked up noticeably and Imrik chuckled at his behaviour. Arya gave a light cough, indicating a poorly hidden laugh. The dragon rolled his eyes and pushed past them, heading for the tunnel to the outside ledge Imrik had visited the last time he had seen the stars.

The sat there for hours, teaching each other songs in their respective languages. When Imrik had sung _The Tale of Aenarion the Defender_, she turned to him and said, "Your people have a truly tragic history. From the dawn of your recorded time, you have been fighting a war that cannot be won. How to you keep fighting, knowing all will be lost?"

Imrik smiled sadly. "Most of us do not know that we cannot beat the Daemons. Most of us believe that we will force them back into the void, close the gates and return the world to the way it should be, that we are the saviours, so to speak. They are deluded. The only force great enough to close the warp-gates is a god, and they could only be summoned there if we managed to recover the lost items of the gods. The Sword of Khaine, the Moon staff and the Moonbow, the Star Crown, the Amulet of Sunfire and the War crown of Saphery, ah there are countless others, my spear included. It would take the greatest elves the world had ever known to accomplish such a feat, but we do not have the strength to traverse the wastes." He lay back with his arms spread wide.

Arya turned to face him and sat at him side, her face downcast and her hands toying idly with blades of grass. "Perhaps, if you could devise a spell to block the effects of chaos in the ancient language, you could attempt this venture? And, if more of your own people came to this world, we would help them set up a colony in Du Weldenvarden, if you would like?" she looked up at him and he saw the hope in her eyes.

"Perhaps in years to come, but for now, let us enjoy tonight." He smiled at her. She smiled back and nodded her head yes. And so they spent the rest of the night like that, gazing at the stars.

Time break

An hour before dawn, Imrik and Gwihir were waiting by the open north gate of Tronjheim. He was wearing his well-worn travelling gear, his sword on his hip and his spear in his hand. His shield was sung on the saddle. Gwihir's armour was being taken care of by the Varden. Imrik's own armour was in his saddlebags. His crown and royal dress were also in the saddlebags. He had considered putting on his white lion cloak, but he did not want to offend Arya or the dwarves with the boast. He was glad to find he had packed it, for he was planning to visit Chrace and see Lutheni – an elven huntress with whom he had a fierce rivalry/friendship – when he had been called to defend his homeland.

Now they sat, far from home, waiting for their friends to arrive. About half an hour later, Eragon and Saphira turned up. Eragon too, was dressed for travel and held his stallion, Snowfire, by the reins. They exchanged greetings and Eragon told Imrik about his encounter with Angela. When Eragon asked what Imrik had done, he replied with a short response.

"I spent my evening with Arya."

Eragon nodded and turned his attention back to waiting. After a while, Orik strolled up, a heavy-looking pack on his back and a buddle in his arms. When Eragon asked him if he had a horse the dwarf's replied was thus: "We'll be stopping at Tarnag, just north of here. From there we take rafts along the Az Ragni to Hedarth, an outpost for trading with the elves. We won't need steeds until Hedarth, so I'll use my own feet till then."

He set his bundle down with a clang, unwrapping it so Eragon and Imrik could see its contents clearly. It was Eragon's armour. His shield had been repaired and re-painted, his mail shirt mended and his other armaments fixed.

"Our greatest smiths worked on these," said Orik, "as well as your armour ,Saphira. However, since we can't take the dragon armour with us, it was given to the Varden, who will guard it against your return."

Eragon thanked Orik for Saphira before lacing on his greaves and bracers, storing the rest in his bags. He reached for his helm, only to find Orik holding it. Imrik raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. He merely rolled the helm between his hands. " Do not be so quick to don this, Eragon. There is a choice you must make first."

"What choice is that?" asked the clearly perplexed boy.

Orik raised the helm and uncovered the polished brow, which, Imrik saw, had been altered: etched into the steel were the hammer and stars of Hrothgar and Orik's clan, the Ingeitum. Orik scowled, looking pleased yet troubled, as if he wasn't sure what the full implications of this gesture meant. He said in a formal voice, "Mine king, Hrothgar, desires that I present you with this helm as a symbol of the friendship he bears you. And with it Hrothgar extends an offer to adopt you as one of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, as a member of his own family."

Imrik's eyes widened at this. A human being adopted into a dwarf clan? Had this ever been done in history? Certainly not in the Old World, that was for sure, and yet here it was... Amazing. Eragon appeared just as awestruck as Imrik. He turned to Orik after having a conversation in his head with Saphira. "How often has this been done?" he asked.

"For a human? Never. Which reminds me ..." he ferreted around in his pack before pulling out a necklace strung with a hammer-shaped amulet. "Hrothgar also wishes for me to extend the same invitation to you, Imrik." He held the amulet in his palm, waiting for Imrik's decision.

"_I cannot accept, Gwihir. I have loyalties in Ulthuan that must come before all others. And if I returned home, an member of a dwarven clan, how would I ever be accepted amongst the elves again?" _Imrik asked his dragon. Gwihir snorted.

"_I shouldn't care what the other nobles and princes think of you. You have achieved that which they cannot. There is no shame in accepting Hrothgar's gift, although I do agree, we have other responsibilities to take care of."_

Imrik mentally nodded his agreement. "What would being part of the clan mean?" he asked to buy Eragon time to make his decision. Imrik felt that if he revealed his plans, Eragon would copy him and he didn't want the boy to offend Hrothgar.

"If you consent to bear our crest," said Orik in the same formal voice, "you will have full rights as a clan member. You may attend our councils and give voice on every issue. And," He grew very sombre, "if you so wish, you will have the right to be buried with our dead."

The words seemed to affect Eragon greatly, for he swiftly took the helm from Orik's left hand and placed it on his head. "I am privileged to join Dûrgrimst Ingeitum." He said.

Orik nodded his approval and turned to Imrik. "And what of you, Rider Imrik? Will you join us in our halls?"

"Nay, I cannot." He replied with sadness in his voice, for he truly wished he could accept. "I must decline, on account of my responsibilities in Ulthuan. Though I will not slight Hrothgar. In his stead, as you are here and he is not, I ask you to bear witness to me, Orik. Will you consent?" he asked, staring hard into the dwarfs eyes.

"Aye. But what are you planning to do, Imrik?" said Orik, raising an eyebrow.

"Then with you and all others here, and with the gods, as my witnesses, I swear that if ever your clan is in need, either in war or peace, then my house with do its utmost to aid you. You have the full support of House Gwindorian, and, as long as I am a prince, the armies of Caledor. I swear it in blood." With this he drew his hunting knife and ran it along his right palm, causing a few rivers of blood to flow down his hand. "Do we have a deal?" he asked the dwarf, offering his bloody hand.

Orik's eyes widened and he drew his own knife. He mirrored Imrik's ritual and the two shook hands, clasping their wounds together. "Bloodbrothers." Said Orik with a hard look in his eyes.

"Bloodbrothers." Repeated Imrik before breaking the contact. Orik grinned at them both.

"Now Eragon, you must finish the ritual of joining the clan. Take this Knurlnien, this Heart of Stone, and cup it between your hands – yes, like so. You must steel yourself now and prick open a vein to wet the stone. A few drops will suffice .. to finish, repeat after me: Os il dom qirânû carn dûr thargen, zeitmen oen grimst vor formv edaris rak skilfz. Narho is belgond ..." what followed was a lengthy recitation, made longer as Orik stopped to translate every few lines. Afterwards Eragon healed his wrist and Imrik did likewise for himself and Orik.

"Whatever else the clans may say about this business," he said, "You have behaved with integrity and respect. They cannot deny that." He grinned again. "We are of the same clan now, eh? You are my foster brother! And Imrik, my blood brother! A glorious day to gain two new brothers. An elf, a man and a dwarf, all united through brotherhood. Ha, songs will be sung of it! Now under normal circumstances, Hrothgar would have presented you with the helm and the necklace himself and we would have held a lengthy ceremony to commemorate your induction into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, but events move to swiftly for us to tarry. Fear not that you are being slighted, though! Your adoption shall be celebrated with the proper rituals when you and Saphira next return to Farthen Dûr – I will ask Nasuada to inform him of our blood-bond, Imrik – Ah we shall feast and dance and there will be many pieces of paper to sign in order to formalise your new position."

"I look forward to it." Said Eragon distractedly. Imrik assumed he was still pondering the repercussions of his actions.

Orik sat down next to a pillar and drew his axe, which he proceeded to twirl around in his hands. After several minutes, he leaned forward and glared back into the city. "Brazûl Knurlar! Where are they? Arya said she would be right here. Ha! Elves' only concept of time is late and even later, present company accepted." He added as an afterthought. Imrik laughed.

"Have you dealt with them much?" asked Eragon, crouching. Saphira turned her attention on the dwarf.

Orik laughed now. "Eta. Only Arya, and then sporadically because she travelled so often. In seven decades, I've learned but one thing from her: you can't rush an elf. Trying is like hammering a file – it might break, but it'll never bend."

"Aren't dwarves the same?" asked Eragon. Imrik smiled at Orik's sigh. Elves to change the least.

"Ah but stone will shift, given enough time." Replied Orik as he shook his head. "Of all the races, elves change the least, which is one reason I'm reluctant to go."

"But think of the wonders we shall see! When was the last time one of your people visited Ellesméra? And besides, think of the enjoyment of the journey. It shall be good to spar with you when we camp, Orik. You still have to land a blow on me." Said Imrik with a smirk. Orik grinned.

"I'll take you up on that challenge, elf. But scenery means nothing to me. Urgent tasks remain in Tronjheim and our other cities, yet I must tramp across Alagaësia to exchange pleasantries and sit and grow fat as you are tutored. It could take years!"

"You make it sound like you are going to clean out a sewer." Chuckled Imrik.

They sat in reflection for a few more minutes before Orik jumped to his feet. "At last!" he exclaimed.

Towards them strode Nasuada, elegant in a long flowing dress, Jörmundur and Arya, who was clad in the black leather outfit she trained and travelled in. She also bore a pack like Orik's. Imrik saw Eragon cringe at the sight of the two of them. He patted him on the shoulder, gave him a reassuring nod and turned to face the three newcomers. When they came up to them, Eragon cast his eyes down. Imrik rolled his own at the boy. Arya smiled quickly.

"You accepted." Said Nasuada, her voice gentle. Eragon nodded mutely, keeping his eyes down. "I wondered if you would. Now once again, all three races have a hold on you. The dwarves can claim your allegiance as a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, the elves will train and shape you – and their influence may be the strongest, for you and Saphira are bound by their magic –and you have sworn fealty to me, a human ... perhaps it is best that we share your loyalty. As for you Imrik, none may claim you yet." She smiled at Eragon and pressed a bag of coins into his hands.

"Actually, Nasuada, I have sworn an oath this day, to aid Dûrgrimst Ingeitum in war or peace and to be Bloodbrothers with Orik. I told Ajihad I would fight with the Varden. This I will tell you too. I will assist all the races, and yet be apart from them. I think that is best for me." Said Imrik in an even tone. He saw surprise flit across their faces.

"Have a safe trip, all of you." She said.

Jörmundur stepped forward and shook Eragon and Imrik's hands. "Guard yourselves well and be safe."

"Come." Said Arya, gliding past them into the darkness of Farthen Dûr. "It is time to leave. Aiedail has set, and we have far to go."

"Aye." Orik agreed. He pulled out a lantern from his pack.

Nasuada looked them over and blessed them and they began to walk away, Arya in front with Imrik close behind, followed by Orik and Eragon and the dragons bringing up the rear.

Behind them, the gate of Tronjheim dwindled and the small flecks that were Jörmundur and Nasuada were lost to sight. When they reached the base of the mountain, they found the great thirty feet doors open and waiting for them. Three dwarf guards bowed and moved away from the portal. Beyond the door, a tunnel of matching proportions to the first one they had entered, lined with columns and lanterns for the first fifty feet, then it was empty and silent, like a tomb.

"Here is our path." Orik said, lifting his lantern.

He and Arya strode forward. Imrik was about to follow when he saw Eragon hesitate.

"Come Eragon, let us face the long dark of the Beors." He chuckled and strode forward, Eragon and the dragons close behind him.

POV change. Now there's a surprise for you ;)

She was falling, definitely falling. To where or for how long she was not sure, but she was defiantly falling. She thought that, if she was to hit the bottom – if there was a bottom to hit –she would be splattered like an egg. Not a very heroic end for what she had done to end up falling.

Of course, some would call taking on a Druchii dreadlord on her own madness but she had killed him hadn't she. Routed the army and won the day? So why was she falling? She hadn't been near any cliffs so she couldn't be falling to the sea. Even if she had, she would have hit the water by now.

She struggled to remember, thinking over the encounter, trying to puzzle out her dilemma. A spark of memory provided the answer. The witch! She must have cast a spell as she fled. If so then ... was she dead? No she couldn't be dead. The dead don't fall to the underworld, they are lead by ravens down a shaft of white marble stairs. Her surroundings were all black.

Just as she was thinking this, her surroundings began to lighten. She turned onto her front and looked down. She had just enough time to register the water before she slammed into it.

Shocked and chilled to the bone, she almost forgot how to swim. She could feel the weight of her armour and cloak pulling her down, along with the current of the river dragging her forwards. She struck out for the surface. Spluttering, she pulled herself from the depths and onto a river bank. She lay there in the afternoon sun, coughing up water and thinking about what had happened. She wasn't dead, but she certainly wasn't in Chrace anymore. She stood and saw the river bank was lined with trees. Tomorrow, she would start up stream to find a settlement, if there were any. But for now, she would forage as best she could and make camp in the trees. She picked up her axe and began to walk towards the woods...

**A/N: Ok so another chapter done. I hope you liked it. Feel free to guess who my newest high elf will be and what she will be. Thanks to my ever-faithful reviewers, Albericus and Master of The Blood Wolves. You guys give me loads of motivation, so cheers! And for the rest of you, remember to review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**A/N****: Right then, new chapter, chapter seven. Wow, this is probably the longest chapter I have ever written. So my mysterious new high elf meets Imrik, Imrik gets pissed off at Az Sweldn rak Anhûin and a good bit of laughing at dwarves. Right, onwards to glory!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but my OC's**

As the doors were dragged open, Imrik had to shade his eyes to avoid being blinded by the sharp burst of sunlight. He blinked to let his eyes adjust as Gwihir tilted his head and Saphira hissed and arched her neck to get a better view of their surroundings.

Two days they had been in the thrice accursed tunnel. Two days without sun or wind or birdsong. The only things that had kept Imrik sane were Gwihir and Arya. Eragon had also contributed, asking lots of questions about Imrik's people. He had answered him in much the same way he had Arya, although the human was a much worse listener than the elf.

He chuckled at the memory as Eragon jogged forwards into the light. He strode forward with Arya by his side and Orik behind him. They stood on a high outcrop of granite, below them, a lake glazed purple in the morning sun. Much like the lake outside Farthen Dûr, it stretched from one side of the valley to the other. From the lake's far side, the Az Ragni flowed north, between the mountains and out onto the plains.

Looking right he saw nothing of interest in the mountain side, but left...Imrik's eyes gazed on a city, built much like the ruined dwarf-hold of Karak Eight-peaks. It was tiered, the lower levels of the city devoted to farming, the upper to living. At the very top of the city, a gleaming dome of gold and ivory protruded from the sprawl of low buildings, giving the entire city the impression of being a set of stairs to the dome.

"That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and home of Dûrgrimst Quan – the Quan clan – who act as servants and messengers to the gods." Said Orik, seemingly anticipating questions from Eragon. All Imrik wanted to know was who tended to the structure, he had figured it was a temple from the start.

"Do they rule Tarnag?" asked Eragon for Saphira.

"Nay," said Arya as she stepped out further into the sun, her voluminous black hair flowing out behind her. "Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife ... and gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn – the River Guard – who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ûndin, while here."

They followed Arya down off the outcrop and into the forest the covered the mountain like a quilt. Imrik dropped back to talk with Orik and Eragon.

"Mind her not," the dwarf whispered, "She has been arguing with the Quan for many a year. Every time she visits Tarnag and speaks with a priest, it produces a quarrel fierce enough to scare a Kull."

Imrik chuckled and Eragon seemed not to believe it. "Arya? " he asked.

Orik nodded grimly, which Imrik found extremely funny. "I know little of it, but I've heard she disagrees strongly with much that the Quan practice. It seems that elves do not hold with 'muttering into the air for help.'"

Imrik laughed out loud now, filling the forest with him mirth. Arya looked back questioningly but Imrik waved away the question in her eyes. She raised her eyebrows but continued on.

Imrik was glad to be out in the open air once ore. His little escapes in Farthen Dûr had done little but temporally relieve the stain. Now he was out of the underground for good, he felt like singing. Indeed, the smell of the tree back and the feel of the moss and rock under his feat were enough to bring a song to his lips. He sang of the thing he had missed most while underground. The stars.

"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!

O Queen beyond the Inner Sea!

O light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond all seas!

O stars that in the Sundering Years

With shining hand by her were sown,

In windy fields now bright and clear

We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

They starlight on the Inner Seas!

He finished his song and crowed with delight, spinning around and laughing. Eragon and Orik gave him strange looks and chuckled slightly. Arya was laughing out loud. Imrik grabbed her hands and pulled her into a spinning sort of dance. Gwihir and Saphira looked at each other before Gwihir too began to laugh. Soon the small clearing rang with their mirth.

"It is a happy day." Said Imrik once he had calmed down and they had begun walking again.

"Yes indeed it is." Replied Arya from beside him smiling. Behind them, he heard Eragon mutter something about elves being more difficult to understand than women. Imrik whispered this to Arya and they laughed again. They were brought up short, however, when they crested a small mound and a strange animal came crashing through the underbrush and onto the path. Imrik was so surprised he hardly reacted.

The animal looked much like a mountain goat, but with huge ribbed horns that could shame a Stegadon. It had wide, intelligent eyes that gave the dragons wary looks. This was in contrast with its rather droll face, a frosty beard and sombre expression. It reminded Imrik so much of Hrothgar he almost laughed. This animal was very dwarfish. So much so, it had a dwarf strapped to the back of it with a half pulled bow in his hands.

"Hert Dûrgrimst? Fild rastn?" shouted the new dwarf.

"Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum," answered Orik, "Wharn, az vanyali Gwindorian Imrik oen Arya. Né oc Ûndin grimstbelardn."

"Azt jok jordn rast." Came the reply.

Then, without any movement Imrik could see on the dwarf's part, the goat leaped forwards, converging an amazing distance, as though it could fly. Then the goat and rider disappeared from sight.

"What was that?" Imrik asked with interest, turning to Orik.

Orik kept on walking so Imrik fell into step beside him. "A Feldûnost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Dûrgrimst Feldûnost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans."

"Why so?" asked Eragon.

"We depend on the Feldûnost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their substance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorising us, it was Dûrgrimst Feldûnost who risked themselves – and still do – to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their dept."

"Do all dwarves ride Feldûnost?" asked Imrik, imagining armies of heavily armed dwarves riding to war on the Feldûnost. It was almost comical.

"Only in the mountains. Feldûnost are hardy and sure-footed, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains." Replied the dwarf.

Saphira nudged Eragon and his stallion shied away from her. Imrik lengthened his stride to catch Arya again. He told her of his vision of dwarven heavy cavalry.

"Then we must never bring an army into the mountains, for we would be run down by dwarves on oversized goats. Perhaps that is why Galbatorix has not invaded the Beors with his own men, he fears the Feldûnost!" she said in mock astonishment. Imrik looked at her for a second.

"I didn't know you could jest." He said before they burst out laughing again. They laughed and joked all the way to the clearing around Tarnag, Eragon and Orik joining in after a while. They grew sombre again when they saw the seven dwarves that approached on Feldûnost with jewelled harnesses. Crowds of observers had already gathered in the fields.

The riders all bore lances tipped with pennants that fluttered in the wind. The lead dwarf, after reining in his beast, addressed them. "Thou art well-come to this city of Tarnag. By otho of Ûndin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls." His accent was more what Imrik was accustomed to with dwarves, rumbling, deep and rough.

"And by Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality." Said Orik.

"As do I, as Prince of Caledor." Said Imrik, smirking slightly as his words threw the dwarf.

"And I do to, in Islanzadí's stead." Added Arya.

Thorv pulled himself together and nodded. He motioned to his fellow riders, who formed up around them. With a flourish, the dwarves started forward, guiding them into the city of Tarnag.

The outer wall was forty feet thick and formed a shadowed tunnel to the first of the farms that encircled Tarnag. Five more tiers, each defended by a fortified gatehouse, carried them past the fields and into the city proper.

In contrast to the ramparts, Tarnag's building were carved to give the impression of grace and lightness. Imrik saw much of what his own people did with stone in the buildings. Bold carvings of animals adorned the homes and shops. The stones, coloured red, green and blue, shone in the light, creating a rainbow of iridescent colour.

Hung throughout the city were the flameless lanterns that had charmed Imrik upon his arrival in Farthen Dûr. Perhaps he could learn the secret of their making and take it home to Ulthuan with him.

Unlike Tronjheim, Tarnag had been constructed for dwarves and dwarves only. At most, the doorways were five feet high, although they were more commonly four and a half. Imrik was tall, even for an elf, and now felt what it must be like to be a giant as he towered over even the mounted dwarves.

The streets bustled with life as dwarves of various clans went about their business. They stood haggling over goods or chatting and drinking with friends. Many were clothed in strange garb that looked exotic, even to Imrik's travelled eye, such as a block of fierce-looking black-haired dwarves with silver wolf-head helms. Imrik wondered if the dwarves here had an equivalent of the slayer cult, and if so, if the wolf-headed dwarves were that equivalent.

Imrik caught Eragon staring at the dwarf women the most. True, he hadn't seen too many of them in Tronjheim, but it was rather impolite to stare as such. Most stood with their children, gentle hands on their shoulders, as they exchanged gossip with their neighbours. They didn't were much jewellery, except for small broaches of iron and stone.

At the sound of the Feldûnost's piercing footsteps, the dwarves turned to look at the new arrivals. They didn't cheer, that much Imrik had expected, but murmured "Shadeslayer," or "Argetlam," as they bowed their heads. When they saw Eragon's helm, however, the admiration was replaced by shock and, in some cases, outrage. The dwarves contracted around the riders, glaring through the gaps at Eragon and shouting imprecations.

Imrik stood taller and let the light of the Asur shine forth slightly from his skin. The dwarves backed off, though not by much. To their credit, Thorv and his guards rode through the crowd as if it was non-existent. They lead them through seven additional tiers until they stood at the gates that separated them from the Celbedeil. Then Thorv turned left, towards a great hall pressed against the mountain and protected in fore by a barbican with two guard towers.

As they neared the hall, a group of armed dwarves streamed out from between two houses and formed a thick line, blocking entrance to the hall. Their faces were covered by long purple veils that flowed down to their shoulders.

The guards stopped immediately, their faces hard.

"What is it?" asked Eragon to Orik, but the dwarf merely shook his head and strode forwards, his hand on his axe. Imrik gestured to Eragon to stay back and accompanied the dwarf. If this was going the way Imrik thought it was, he was ready to defend Eragon to the hilt.

"Etzil nithgech!" cried a veiled dwarf, raising a fist, "Formv Hrethcarach ... formv Jurgencarmeitder nos eta goroth bahst Tarnag, dûr encesti rak kythn! Jok is warev az barzûlegûr dûr Dûrgrimst, Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, môgh tor rak Jurgenvren? Ne ûdim eta los rast knurlag. Knurlag ana ..." the dwarf continued his rant for a long minute.

"Vrron!" barked Thorv and the two dwarves began to argue. Despite the exchange, Imrik noticed the Thorv respected the veiled dwarf.

Suddenly they veiled dwarf fell silent and jabbed behind Imrik, at Eragon's helm, with an expression of horror.

"Knurlag qana qirânû Dûrgrimst Ingietum!" he screamed. "Qarzûl ana Hrothgar oen volfild – "

"Jok is frekk dûrgrimstvren?" interrupted Orik quietly, drawing his axe. Imrik moved to stand behind him, spear in hand, eyes boring into the veil that hid the dwarf's face.

The strange dwarf looked hard at Orik before removing a ring from his pocket, plucking three hairs from his beard, twining them around the ring, and threw it on the street with an impervious clink, spitting after it. They began to file away but Imrik called out.

"Hold yourselves." They stopped and the one who had spoken cocked his head to him. Imrik drew his dagger from his belt. Upending his spear, he stabbed it into the paving stones, cutting through the rock like butter. Then drew off his glove, ran the blade of his dagger across his right palm, and threw the blade at the feet of the dwarf, squeezing his fist closed over the wound. Blood dripped onto the stones at his feet.

"Pick it up, if you dare. And know that you have made more than one enemy here today." The lead dwarf spat at Imrik and left, followed by the other dwarves. Imrik pulled his spear from the ground and retrieved his glove and dagger. Turning to face the assembled company he saw shock on every face. Orik strode forward and picked up the ring, depositing it in a pouch.

"What does it mean?" asked Eragon.

"It means," replied Thorv, "that you have enemies."

"And so do your enemies, if I am not mistaken." Said Orik, looking at Imrik with narrowed eyes.

"I swore an oath, Orik. I will not break it to save the hospitality of a few dwarfish cowards. If they had taken the dagger, then I would have duelled him to the death. They have left it, however, so we are merely blood enemies." He turned to face Thorv. "My house is old and proud. We are not very restrained when slighted. If I meet that dwarf again, or any of his clan and kin, I will again issue my challenge. Until one of us lies dead, I will not cease to oppose them in any way I can."

Thorv nodded and turned away. Imrik slipped back inside the ring of guards and stood next to Arya. Her mind brushed against his and he let her through his defences.

"_That was a very bold move to make Imrik. I hope you know the consequences._" She said, giving him a hard look.

"_I swore an oath to defend his clan. The consequences matter not._" He replied, mentally shrugging.

"_You are stubborn and prideful. It will be the death of you." _She said, rolling her eyes at him. He flashed her a quick smile.

"_Then I will die with honour." _

They hurried through the barbican to a wide courtyard in which were situated three long banquet tables, decorated with banners and lanterns. Before the tables stood a group of dwarves, the nearest one a grey-bearded dwarf swathed in a wolfskin. He spread his arms in greeting and said, "Welcome to Tarnag, home of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn. We have hard much praise of you, Eragon Shadeslayer, and of you, Imrik Gwindorian. I am Ûndin, son of Derûnd and clan chief."

Another dwarf stepped forward. He was built like a warrior, with a strong neck and upper body. His hooded eyes never left Eragon's face. "And I, Gannel, son of Orm Blood-ax and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan."

"It is an honour to be your guests." Said Eragon inclining his head. Saphira snorted. Imrik guessed she wasn't happy at being ignored, as he felt Gwihir's own irritation rise.

"Yes, an honour indeed to be guests of such mighty and respectable dwarves." Said Imrik coldly. Of the dwarves he had met so far, these two seemed like the sort who he couldn't abide. They would sooner live alone and undisturbed than accept that change had come to their land. They were far to content with their own power, and loath to relinquish it to another. The clan chiefs didn't show any outward signs of anger, so Imrik guessed they feared him too much to anger him with outright confrontation. _Cowards as well, _he though. Gwihir silently agreed.

The clan chiefs greeted Arya and Orik in turn, but their hospitality was lost on Orik, who's only response was to extend his hand, the iron ring on his palm.

Ûndin's eyes widened, and he gently lifted the ring, pinching it between his forefinger and thumb as if it were a poisonous artefact.

"Who gave this to you?" he asked.

"It was Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. And not to me, but to Eragon."

Alarm spread across the faces of the dwarves. Imrik narrowed his eyes as Gannel addressed him. "Is this why you are cold to us, elf? Because of a simple misunderstanding between some of the clans and Eragon? Surely we can make thi – "

"Save your words for someone who is foolish enough to believe them, priest." Said Imrik, cutting across Gannel in a cold, proud voice that bespoke no argument.

Ûndin frowned as his advisers muttered in his ear. "We must consult on this issue. Shadeslayer, Rider Imrik, a feast is prepared in your honour. If you would allow my servants to guide you to your quarters, you can refresh yourself, and we might begin."

"Of course." Replied Eragon. Imrik merely nodded curtly. He then crossed to Gwihir and took out the pack that contained his princely attire. Eragon handed the reins of his horse to a waiting dwarf and followed the guide into the hall. Imrik hesitated before following.

"_We shall talk with Arya later about this matter._" He said to Gwihir as the dragon lay down at the head of one of the tables, Saphira walking to the other end and copying his actions.

"_Aye, that we will._" Replied Gwihir.

Imrik turned back to the hall and strode forward, catching the guide in a manner of seconds. The corridors, though richly carved and decorated, were far too small for Imrik and Eragon. When they found their respective rooms, Imrik's back was sore from the crouching he had had to do.

"I will return when Grimstborith Ûndin is ready." Said the servant as he left.

He straightened, savouring the room to stand, before going to the wash basin. He saw the steam and raised an eyebrow. _These dwarves just get stranger and stranger,_ he though as he waited for the water to cool, then washed the grim of the road from his face and neck. Stripping off his travelling clothes, he dressed again in the princely attire he had worn to Ajihad's funeral, minus the crown of Caledor. He belted on his sword, not to insult the table, but to make him feel safe.

When the servant returned for him, Imrik noticed that, although it was only an hour or so past noon, the city had been plunged into twilight by the looming shadow of the mountains. Now, in the half light of evening, the dwarven lanterns truly came into their own, dousing the streets in pure, unwavering light that lit the sides of the valley around the city, showing how many of the lanterns were used in Tarnag.

Ûndin and the other dwarves had gathered in the courtyard. The dragons remained at the head of the table, next to one another. This slightly confused Imrik until he realised that they had done so in order for Imrik and Eragon to sit together with their friends. No-one seemed interested at disputing their choice.

"_So? What has the dwarf done about security?"_ asked Imrik as Eragon and himself hurried forwards to their dragons.

"_He had the gates barred and summoned additional warriors. He also gave some orders to a dwarf who looked like he could have been a magician, but it was in dwarfish so I could not understand."_

Imrik nodded his understanding and walked after Eragon, Ûndin gesturing for them to sit to his right and across from him. They sat in unison and the rest of the company hurried to follow. Arya sat beside Imrik and Orik beside Eragon. They both looked rather grim. Imrik raised an eyebrow at Arya. Her eyes replied, "Later." Ûndin slapped the table and roared "Ignh az voth!"

Servants streamed out of the hall, holding platters of beaten gold piled high with various foods. Pies, meats and fruits. The divided into three columns, one for each table, and deposited the dishes with a flourish.

Set before them were soups and stews, roasted venison, hot loaves of sourdough bread and rows of honeycakes with raspberry preserve dripping from them. On a bed of greens lay a filleted trout garnished with parsley. On the side, a rather forlorn looking eel lay gazing up the table with blank eyes. A swan sat on each table, surrounded by a flock of other birds, geese, partridges and ducks.

The undoubted staple of the feast was mushrooms. (**A/N: am I the only one who sees these dwarves like hobbits? I mean, who else likes mushrooms this much?)** They were everywhere: boiled in strips, carved like crowns and set atop birds heads or cut into castles and set in moats of gravy. Such an incredible verity was on display, Imrik thought he could sample every edible mushroom in Alagaësia if he tried them all.

The centrepiece of the feast was revealed and Imrik let out an involuntary gasp. A giant wild boar, for that was what it had to be, roasted and glistening with sauce. Six dwarves carried the horse-sized monstrosity to the table. Imrik heard Orik mutter something to Eragon. He only caught the word Nagra, which must mean that is what the boar is called.

"Smer voth," commanded Ûndin, smiling around the table. The servants immediately drew small curved knives and cut portions of the Nagra, which they set on everyone's plates – except his own and Arya's, to which Imrik rolled his eyes and gestured to one of the servants to serve him also – including a weighty piece for each of the dragons. Ûndin smiled again and drew his dagger to cut a piece of the meat. Arya grabbed his hand under the table before he could reach for his knife and he saw Orik do the same.

"Wait." She whispered.

Ûndin chewed slowly, rolling his eyes and nodding exaggeratedly, then swallowing, he proclaimed, "Ilf gauhnith!"

"Now." Said Arya. Conversation erupted across the table. Imrik turned to the boar meat.

It had a unique taste, soft, juicy and oddly spicy – as if the meat had been soaked in honey and spices – which was supported by the mint and salt used to flavour and season the pork. "_Do you like it?_" Imrik asked Gwihir after sampling his own mouthful.

"_Yes. They must have cooked this very slowly, for something so large is not prepared in haste._" Imrik agreed with the dragon. He turned to Arya.

"Now tell me what has you looking so grim."

"It will be explained later. Let us not spoil our dinner with such talk. You have your, ah meat to enjoy." She said, looking distastefully at the meat on Imrik's plate. He rolled his eyes at her.

"Hunting is a natural order, there is not shame or dishonour in following that. Now let us also leave that topic for another occasion. Let us talk of happier days and songs and dances." And so they did. Imrik also conversed with Eragon and Orik, while sampling as many dishes as he could. Many hours later, after all the food had been consumed, all the drink drunk and all speeches made. Ûndin turned to Eragon and Imrik.

"The meat pleased you, yes? Even you, Rider Imrik, an elf?"

"It was delicious." Said Eragon.

"Yes it was. As for my eating habits, when you are linked with such a great hunter as Gwihir, you become more attuned to the order of nature. Hunting and consuming other animals is a natural thing for predators."

"I am glad you enjoyed it. I had the tables moved outside yesterday so the dragons might dine with us." While he spoke, he made neither look nor gesture to Saphira or Gwihir.

Imrik's earlier anger flared and his eyes turned cold again. He saw a similar reaction in Eragon. Intentionally or not, Ûndin had treated Gwihir and Saphira like no more than dumb beasts. It was an insult, not only to the dragons themselves, but to Imrik's entire kingdom. He would not let the slight stand. But before he could act, Eragon beat him to it.

"Saphira and I thank you, as do Imrik and Gwihir I am sure." He hesitated, Imrik thought for effect, then asked, "Sir, why was the ring thrown at us?" Imrik smirked broadly at the dwarf's discomfort as the table grew increasingly silent.

Ûndin put down his dagger and scowled thickly. "The knurlagn you met are of a tragic clan. Before the Rider's fall, they were among the oldest, richest families of our kingdom. Their doom was sealed, though, by two mistakes: they lived on the western edge of the Beor Mountains, and they volunteered their greatest warriors in Vrael's service."

Anger flowed into his voice with sharp cracks. "Galbatorix and his ever-cursed Forsworn slaughtered them in you city of Urû'baen. Then they flew on us, killing many. Of that clan, only Grimstcarvlorss Anhûin and her guards survived. Anhûin soon died of grief, and her men took the name Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, The Tears of Anhûin, covering their faces to remind themselves of their loss and their desire for revenge."

Understanding blossomed in Imrik's mind. These dwarves were much like the shadow warriors, forever wanting revenge and forever standing apart. Ûndin continued "So they rebuilt their clan over the decades, waiting and hunting for recompense. And now you come, bearing Hrothgar's mark. It is the ultimate insult to them, no matter your service to Farthen Dûr. Thus the ring, the ultimate challenge. It means Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin will oppose you with all their resources, in every matter, big or small. They have set themselves against you utterly, declaring themselves blood enemies."

"They aren't the only ones to have sworn such today." Growled Imrik menacingly from across the table. Ûndin gave him a shocked look before Eragon spoke.

"Do they mean me bodily harm?" he asked stiffly.

Ûndin's gaze faltered for a moment and he cast a look at Gannel before laughing gruffly. The sound grated against the silence. "No Shadeslayer! Not even they would harm a guest. It is forbidden. They only want you gone, gone, gone." Eragon looked contemplative and didn't reply. Ûndin continued, "Please, let us talk no more of these unpleasant matters. Gannel and I have offered our food and mead in friendship; is that not what matters?" the priest muttered an agreement.

"It is appreciated." Relented Eragon. Imrik nodded stiffly. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

(Time Break)

When morning broke, it was dawnless and cold for Imrik. He washed himself and dressed, heading down through the cramped corridors to the main hall, where Eragon and Orik were just leaving. He hurried to catch them, but was stopped by Arya. She pulled him off into another part of the hall, winding her way through the passages until they stopped at the door to a room. She lead him inside and closed the door after him. It was her quarters.

They were much like his own. A bed big enough for an elf to sleep in, wash basin, chest of draws and a rug that covered the floor. Two windows sat facing each other on opposite walls. She gestured to the bed and they sat down.

"Gwihir said you wished to talk with me about the ring?" said Arya, her expressionless mask dissolving into one of worry and anxiety.

"Yes, I do. What does it truly mean? Do they mean Eragon bodily harm or not?" Imrik asked, the worry for Eragon clear in his voice. They were practically brothers, as he was of Orik's clan and Imrik was Orik's Bloodbrother.

"Yes. They will oppose him whenever and where-ever they can. If they can kill him, they will." She said. Imrik looked away in anger and his hands curled into fists. "Please, don't tell Eragon. It will only make him worried and he won't be able to enjoy his only day in Tarnag." she asked him. Imrik turned back to her.

"Of course. We can't have him jumping at shadows. He is more than capable of dealing with a few dwarves." He replied with a smile. Arya smiled too.

They sat in silence, comfortable in each other's company. Then Arya asked, "What was the jest that brought forth your mirth yesterday? You never did tell me." She had a twinkle in her eye as she said it. Imrik smiled.

"Why, it was only Orik telling us of your habit to argue with the Quan, and how you don't approve of, how did he put it... 'muttering into the air for help.' The expression he wore while telling this to Eragon was so sombre, you would think he was telling him about a relative that had died." At this Imrik began to chuckle, remembering Orik's face and Eragon's reaction.

Arya blushed at the comment, something Imrik never thought he would see. Then she laughed as she imagined Orik's face. Imrik laughed too. Soon they were both lying on the bed next to each other, laughing at nothing in particular. They turned to face each other as the laughter died. Imrik smiled. It was good to have a friend such as Arya. She smiled back at him then sat up. He rose with her.

"I am going to Celbedeil, are you coming?" she asked him.

"Of course. I have a funny feeling we will find Eragon there also." He replied with enthusiasm. "Let me just go and fetch my sword. I do not trust the hospitality of the dwarves to protect us in the streets."

Arya nodded her agreement and Imrik set off back to his room. He belted on his sword and dagger, before heading back to the main hall. He found Arya waiting for him. Her sword was on her hip.

"Ûndin has asked us to go and retrieve Eragon from Celbedeil. Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed the city against us." She said, her hand on her sword hilt.

"Then we must hurry." Replied Imrik. He looked over at Gwihir and nodded to the dragon who was curled up next to Saphira. "_Be ready to come and fly us out if things turn ugly._" He said with his mind to the dragon. Gwihir merely nodded his assent.

The exited the hall and walked towards the glittering dome, through the gates of the hall and out into the city. Dwarves bustled about their business, talking and haggling much as they had done yesterday, though there was a tension in the air. Talk stopped as the two elves passed through, dwarves muttered under their breaths in their own language. Many stared with outrage and hate at Imrik. Imrik let his anger show in his face. His eyes grew narrowed and filled with burning rage, his mouth became a thin line. His brow furrowed and is skin shone with the light of the Asur. They met no opposition on their journey to the dwarven temple, yet Imrik sensed that if they hadn't have been who they were, the dwarves would have already attacked them.

Entering the gates temporarily brought Imrik's anger to heel. The bright array of colour before him blotted out all else. A bright green sward fanned out around the pillared mass of the temple, like a great green rug. Ivy covered the ancient walls, making it look like the dome was uninhabited and had been left to nature. Dew glittered on the pointed leaves of the plants, sparkling like the stars.

Next was the smell of the place. Flowers and incense mixed and formed a powerful aroma that, to Imrik's mind, conjured up an image of something he had never seen. The gardens of the Everqueen, teeming with life and beauty.

Finally the sound washed over Imrik. The silence of the temple astounded Imrik. The only place where silence was more complete was the Shrine of Asuryan. These priests must truly devote themselves if they are so quiet and yet had no vow to do so.

They walked forward under the eaves of the Celbedeil proper. Imrik was impressed by the wealth and craftsmanship on the walls. Gems of every size and colour dotted the walls, red gold hammered into the veins that formed a lattice work across the ceiling, walls and floor. Pearls and silver accented the darker colours, providing a small point of contrast for the eyes. Occasionally, they passed a screen partition carved entirely of jade.

Imrik's earlier impressions faded as he realised that, although this temple was very richly adored, the wealth of a priesthood should be put to use on their religion and their people, not on their temples. Of course, a certain amount of decoration must be placed in a place of worship, to show that the priests truly respected the god or goddess they worshiped, but this was excess to the limit. He had always been rather partial to the bare walls of his home in Caledor anyway, preferring the simple wonders of wood and stone in the home, to the shining wealth of gold and jewels.

The opened a door and walked into a long hall. Eragon and Gannel stood at the far end, admiring the most wondrous wall art Imrik had ever seen. It was enamel, that much he could tell. It depicted the history of Alagaësia from the prospectus of the dwarves, showing everything from the carving of Isidar Mithrim, to the first meeting of dwarves and elves and the coronation of each dwarf king or queen. Dragons appeared frequently, burning and slaughtering. Imrik raised his eyebrows but was not surprised in the least. That is what a wild dragon would do.

Arya scanned the wall with a blank expression, yet Imrik could feel the distaste flowing off her. He mentally braced himself, this was going to be a storm of words. When they were close enough to speak comfortably with the two, Arya inclined her head. Imrik mirrored her.

"Grimstborith." She said.

"Arya." He replied stiffly. Imrik smirked

"You have been education Eragon in your mythology?" Arya asked politely. Imrik inwardly grimaced. She obviously thought less of the dwarven religion than his own, for when he had explained it to her, she had accepted his explanations with little more than a few questions about his faith.

Gannel smiled flatly. "One should always understand the faith of the society that one belongs to."

"Yet comprehension does not imply belief." She fingered a pillar on and archway, running her nails over the rough and beaten gold. "Nor does it mean those who purvey such beliefs do so for more than ... material gain." Imrik caught Eragon's eye and gestured to him to walk slightly away from the escalating argument. He looked pleased to comply.

They walked just to the side of Arya and Gannel, who by now where arguing heatedly, at least on Gannel's part. Imrik glanced over at them before speaking to Eragon in hushed tones. "We have come to take you back to Ûndin's hall. Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has turned the city into an overturned hornets' nest. We need to get you to a place of true safety." He said in urgent tones, then relented slightly. "Have you enjoyed your day?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Yes." Replied Eragon absently. He seemed far more preoccupied with the fact of his own safety, which Imrik couldn't blame him for. "I have learned much about the way the world was formed, and how elves and humans were created, along with the dwarves. And also that stones grow." He seemed genuinely to believe these things. Imrik was hesitant to deconstruct the dwarven teaching so nodded and smiled about the creation of the dwarves and other races and Eragon explained it to him, and showed curiosity when he described the growing stones. Imrik had been to Lothren and the coast only a few times, but he knew how coral formed. He would let Arya explain it to him, after all, it might be different here.

"Eragon." Arya's voice cut the boy off in mid-explanation. "As I am sure Imrik has already informed you, Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed Tarnag's citizens against you. Ûndin believes, as do I, that it would be best for you to remain behind his walls until we leave."

Eragon hesitated, then bowed to Gannel and begged to be excused. "You need not apologise, Shadeslayer," said the clan chief. He glared at Arya. "Do what you must, and may the blessings of Gûntera be upon you."

Together they departed the temple, surrounded by Eragon's guards. They trotted through the city, listening to the sounds of a riot further down the tiers. A stone skipped off an nearby roof and a dark plume of smoke rose from the edge of the city. Inflamed was the right word, Imrik thought.

Once inside, Imrik and Eragon both ran to their rooms, as quickly as one could run while hunched over. Once there, Imrik donned his travelling gear once again, preferring the ability to use his full speed and flexibility rather than be limited by his armour. It may be light and easy to move in, but the plates still have a point to where they couldn't match Imrik's natural acrobatics. Strapping his bow and quiver onto his back he grabbed his pack and spear, then exited the room. Crouching low to avoid any brushes with the ceiling, he made his way back to the courtyard. Eragon was already there, sitting by Saphira's right foreleg. Imrik walked over to Gwihir, who lay next to Saphira on her right side.

"_Ready to leave?" _he asked the dragon.

"_So much change in these past few weeks... yes I am ready to leave. To sooner we are away, the better._" Imrik silently agreed. He sat across from Eragon and talked a little more about dwarven religion. Arya joined them before long, as did a group of heavily armed dwarves. They sat around them, talking in low grunts and eyeing the gate and the mountains behind them.

"They fear," said Arya, seating herself next to Imrik "that the crowds may prevent us from reaching the rafts."

"Saphira and Gwihir could fly us down." Suggested Eragon.

"Or I could dress for battle and ride out of Gwihir and scare them back into their homes, " said Imrik, "Both would achieve the same thing. Nothing. Saphira and Gwihir cannot carry us and Ûndin's guards, let alone your stallion."

"It is unfortunate that you have managed to offend so many dwarves, but perhaps inevitable. The clans have ever been contentious; what pleases one infuriates another." Said Arya.

"I wish now I hadn't accepted Hrothgar's gift." Said Eragon, fingering the edges of his mail.

"Nay. It was a good decision and the right one." Said Imrik, reaching over and grasping Eragon's shoulder. "If I wasn't so bound with my loyalties in Ulthuan, I would have accepted also." Eragon nodded and smiled.

They fell into silence for a few minutes. Six dwarves got up and marched around, stretching their legs. Then Eragon turned to Arya. "Do you have any family in Du Weldenvarden?"

Imrik leaned forward slightly, interested to find out a little more about Arya. Family was something they hadn't discussed. Arya answered after a long pause. Imrik could tell this was a difficult subject for her and she wasn't sure if she should talk about it with them.

"None that I'm close to."

"Why ... why is that?" asked Eragon. Imrik flashed him a warning look.

Arya hesitated again. "They disliked my choice to become the Queen's envoy and ambassador; it seemed inappropriate. When I ignored their objections and still had the yawë tattooed on my shoulder – which indicates that I have devoted myself to the greater good of our race, as is the case with your ring from Brom –my family refused to see me again."

Imrik was shocked slightly by her revelations. He knew of elves who shunned their families or were shunned because of disgrace, but they were usually solved within half a century. This prolonged feud between Arya and her family ... it was not good, of that Imrik was sure.

Eragon shared Imrik's protest. "Bu that was over seventy years ago!" he said.

She looked away from them and hid her face behind a veil of hair. Imrik knew that she was trying to conceal her emotions so he didn't press his own thoughts.

Eragon however, must not have been as sensitive, for he asked, "Are there any other elves outside Du Weldenvarden?"

Arya answered distractedly, still not facing them. "Three of us were sent forth from Ellesméra. Fäolin and Glenwing always travelled with me when we transported Saphira's egg between Du Weldenvarden and Tronjheim. Only I survived Durza's ambush."

"What were they like?" asked Eragon again. Imrik nudged him with his elbow. Asking Arya to recall memories of her friends who had died was not something he wanted her to go through.

"Proud warriors," answered Arya, not seeing the nudge from Imrik as she was till staring across the courtyard. "Glenwing loved peaking to birds with his mind. He would stand in the forest surrounded by a flock of songbirds and listen to their music for hours. Afterward, he might sing us the prettiest of melodies."

"And Fäolin?" Arya refused to answer point blank. Imrik was exasperated with Eragon by now. He was about to tell him to stop questioning her with his mind when he asked another question. "Why do you dislike Gannel so much?" he asked. Where does he get them, asked Imrik to himself, then chuckled at the irony.

Arya spun and face Eragon, touching his cheek with her fingers. Imrik raised his eyebrows in surprise as Eragon flinched away, obviously shocked as well. "That," she said, "is a discussion for another time." Then she stood and calmly walked to another part of the courtyard.

Eragon turned to face him, confusion evident in his face. "I don't understand." He said.

Imrik smiled ruefully. "She's a woman, you are not meant to understand." For some reason, Saphira found this extremely amusing.

As light glinted into the sky overhead, Imrik awoke Gwihir and Eragon. He rose soundlessly and looked about him. The dwarves were muffling there armour and weapons so they could creep through Tarnag without waking the populous. Imrik saw Eragon tie rags to Snowfire's hooves and Saphira's claws. He did the same to Gwihir.

When they were all ready, Ûndin and his warriors formed a large block around Eragon, Imrik, Arya, Orik – who had joined them shortly after Eragon had awoken – and the dragons. The gates swung open soundlessly on oiled hinges and they set out for the lake.

Tarnag reminded Imrik of some of the cities in Ulthuan. Abandoned and desolate. They encountered few dwarves, who gazed at them silently, before padding away like wraiths before the sun.

At each gate, a guard waved them through without comment. They were soon out of the city and in the fields in the lower tiers. Beyond them, a stone quay that ran along the edge of the still, gray water.

Waiting for them were two wide rafts tied to the pier. Three dwarves squatted on the first raft, four on the second. They stood as Ûndin came into view.

Eragon helped the dwarves hobble and blindfold his stallion, then coax the horse onto the second raft, where he was tied down. Meanwhile, Imrik took the saddle off Gwihir and told him to follow Saphira into the lake. The dragons slipped into the water, only their heads remaining above the surface.

Ûndin grasped Eragon's arm, then Imrik's. "This is where we part. You have my best men; they will protect you until you reach Du Weldenvarden." Eragon tried to thank him but Ûndin shook his head. "No, it is not a matter of gratitude. It is my duty. I am only ashamed that your stay was darkened by the hatred of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin."

Imrik bowed, feeling his respect for the dwarf lift slightly. Eragon mirrored him then boarded the first raft with him, Arya and Orik. The mooring ropes were unknotted, and the dwarves pushed away from the shore with long poles. As dawn approached, the two rafts drifted towards the mouth of the Az Ragni, the dragon's swimming alongside them.

**POV Change, for those who didn't guess it, it's Lutheni.**

Lutheni was not very happy. She had been walking for three days, without sight nor sound of another being capable of speech. She was headed towards the mountains, following the river to its source. Using her knowledge as a hunter, she knew that animals would have to drink at the river, and trees grew along its banks so she did not lack for food or shelter, though she had to hunt small game that she could consume in a night, for she had no pack to keep the food in.

What angered her, was the lack of company. She had always liked to talk and sing with her fellow elves. Now she was alone, totally alone, she felt small and insignificant. If there was one thing she didn't like to feel, it was insignificant. Hence her anger.

Thankfully, her clothes had dried quickly in the sun of the plain. She did not want to spend more time than was necessary naked, nor did she want to walk for miles and miles in soaked clothes. A wind sprang up ahead of her and she pulled her heavy cloak tighter around her body. She was glad for the warmth of the fur, not only did it block out the wind, but it made an excellent blanket for sleeping with at night.

Sighing and turning back to the river, she continued her monotonous trudging, swinging her axe occasionally to alleviate the numbness in her arms. Her axe, her axe now. Not her father's anymore. It had been given to her by his regiment after he had fallen in battle. The Ilthilmar blade shining in the sun. The long, silver-wooded handle, entwined with gold and leather, rested easy in her hands.

Her armour weighted heavy on her shoulders, slowing her progress. She was of course glad to have it, but she just wished she could take it off and sling it over her back, it was far less heavy then. Sighing again, she heaved her axe onto her shoulders and kept walking.

**Back to Imrik now.**

Drifting down the river on the first day from Tarnag, Imrik marvelled at the feeling of being on the water. He had sailed very little while in Ulthuan, but had thoroughly enjoyed it, as he did now. He was always at home near water, as if the sea sang in his blood. He guessed that his whole family was the same, as their family home was located on the outer side of the Dragonspines. He had learnt the names of the dwarven guards. They were Ama, Tríhga, Hedin, Ekksvar, Shrrgnien – which Eragon couldn't pronounce, but was told it meant Wolfheart –Dûthmér, and Thorv.

Imrik spent his time talking with the dwarves, sitting with Eragon and watching the mountains pass by, or sitting in the centre cabin and reading his book while talking with Arya about the different kingdoms of Ulthuan and their merits. She seemed to take a great liking to Saphery, and was slightly perturbed by the notion of the White Lions of Chrace. Imrik merely shrugged at her questions on their motives.

"If ever you meet one, I dare say they will answer you. Sadly I have had little experience with them, save for the few times I have accompanied them out on a hunting trip. The only hunter of Chrace I know well is Lutheni Tellatén. She is a woman, around my age, who is a friend of mine in Chrace. We are fierce rivals and always end up brawling with either words or fists. She would be able to answer your questions no doubt."

After this she stopped her questioning of Chrace and moved on to Saphery. Imrik happily explained the wonders of the White Tower of Hoeth, for he had spent a short time in tuition there. She seemed amazed by the vast libraries that Imrik described and the magic that the elves of Ulthuan wrought upon the world.

And so the day went passed quickly for Imrik. When he next looked out of the hut when he saw Eragon dive off the raft and swim out to Saphira. Sending a quick question to Gwihir, Imrik put down his book and stripped off his jerkin, boots and cloak, so he stood in his tunic and leggings. Running out of the hut, he dived forward with a laugh of joy, flipping over and splashing into the water.

Swiftly pulling himself alongside Gwihir, he mounted and they flew up to the sky, where Eragon and Saphira were circling. As they flew together rising on an updraft, Imrik caught sight of three things launch themselves from the mountainside below and ascend rapidly. Imrik's mind went straight to defensive. He drew into himself and put up his mental shields, thinking of wyverns and there tendency to attack anything in their territory.

As the beasts ascended, Imrik saw they greatly resembled wyverns, yet they had the forelegs of a dragon. "_Be ready._" Said Imrik, running through the list of words he had learnt and preparing a spell. Gwihir growled an affirmative and hovered in place, inspecting the newcomers. They seemed puzzled by the dragons, hissing and swooping overhead. Imrik eyed them with suspicion. Eragon grinned.

Suddenly the three beasts recoiled and shrieked. Imrik was glad he had erected his shields, for the piercing cry was mental as well as physical. Their attack, however, did little to hurt his mind. Saphira and Eragon were not so lucky it seemed. The creatures flew at them, attacking with razor sharp claws.

Saphira dipped her left wing and avoided two of the creature before flapping quickly and rising above the third. Gwihir roared a challenge at the wyvern-things, fire flashing out of his jaws and nearly engulfing one of them. The mental attack lessened. Saphira and Eragon seemed to have recovered as Saphira spun upside down as one of the other beats dove at her, kicking it in the chest. The final wyvern shrieked once more, then retreated with its fellows in tow.

Imrik turned and grinned at Eragon, who was losing his arms around Saphira's neck. "Well that was fun!" he said. They laughed as they returned to the rafts.

"Are you hurt?" called out Orik as they landed amidst great flumes of water.

"No." Said Eragon.

"No." Called Imrik, leaping from Gwihir's back to the raft in one mighty jump. He landed next to Orik with a soft thump. "What were those things?"

Orik stooped to help Eragon onto the raft before explaining. "We call them Fanghur. They're not as intelligent as dragons and can't breathe fire, but they're still formidable foes. They are another one of the animals unique to the Beor Mountains."

"Formidable indeed. Though no match for a dragon." Said Imrik, looking over at Eragon rubbing his head.

"It's how they hunt." Explained Orik, "They use their minds to immobilise their prey while they kill it."

"_A good strategy. Perhaps I will try it when I am next hunting._" Said Gwihir

"_Indeed. I could also be useful in battle._" Replied Imrik.

Arya came to the edge of the raft. "I am glad you did not kill them. Fanghur are rare enough that those three would have been sorely missed."

"They still manage to eat enough of our herds," growled Thorv from inside the cabin. The dwarf stomped out to Eragon and Imrik. "Do not fly anymore in these Beor Mountains, Shadeslayer, or you Rider Imrik. It is difficult enough to keep you unharmed without you and thine dragons fighting wind-vipers."

"We'll stay on the ground until we reach the plains," promised Eragon Imrik nodded his agreement.

That night, the dwarves moored the rafts at the mouth of a small stream. Ama started a small fire while Eragon helped Ekksvar pull Snowfire onto land. Imrik walked around the camp, running his hands over the trees. Aspen, the only trees Imrik had seen today were aspens. They grew so well in the cold mountain air, Imrik half thought they were made for the mountains.

When he came back to camp, six large tents had been erected and dinner had just been cooked. Imrik ate with Eragon before retiring to the tent he shared with the other Rider. He pulled his blankets and fell into the blackness of a dreamless sleep.

He awoke early and walked out to the stream, washing his chest, neck , face and arms with the cold water. After drying himself and pulling his tunic and jerkin over his head, he headed back and helped the dwarves to prepare to leave. They seemed more relaxed now they were a good distance away from Tarnag. When they started down the river, Ekksvar – who was steering Snowfire's raft – began to chant in rough bass:

_Down the rushing mere-wash_

_Of Kílf's welling blood,_

_We ride the twisting timbers,_

_For hearth, clan and honour._

_Under the ernes' sky-vat,_

_Through the ice-wolves' forest bowls,_

_We ride the gory wood,_

_For iron, gold, and diamond._

_Let hand-ringer and bearded gaper fill my grip_

_And battle-leaf guard my stone_

_As I leave the halls of my fathers_

_For the empty land beyond._

The other dwarves gradually joined in, slipping into dwarfish as the verses progressed. Imrik saw, from his seat in the cabin, Eragon walk forward and talk with Arya. He seemed troubled by something. Imrik put it out of his mind, however, as the boy had gone seeking Arya's help. If it was something Imrik could help with, Eragon would have already asked him, so he settled back down to his book.

At midday, Imrik was sitting, snacking of a few biscuits that the dwarves had brought from Tarnag. As they swept past the gap between the two mountains at the end of the chain, a great plain stretched north as far as the eye could see. The air grew warmer and different types of trees began to grow on the banks of the river. They curved around to the east and were trapped between the mountains and the plain.

The dwarves seemed unsettled by the amount of open ground, glancing back at the rift behind them with longing. Imrik was reminded of his jests at the dwarven heavy cavalry and laughed again at the ridiculous image.

Behind him, Saphira and Gwihir launched themselves into the sky, spiralling up into the sky until they were little more than dots.

"_What do your eyes see, Gwihir?" _Imrik asked, looking longingly to the sky.

"_A herd of gazelles to the north and east, so vast it covers nearly a mile in each direction. To the west, a desert. Then nothing except the trees and the river._"

"_Nothing at all?" _asked Imrik confused.

"_We are alone._" Came the reply.

That evening, Thorv chose a small cove for their camp. Dûthmér cooked dinner while Eragon cleared a space by his tent. Interested, Imrik walked over to the boy. He had Zar'roc drawn and held in a ready stance.

"Mind if I watch?" said Imrik, interested to know more of Eragon's fighting style. He had only seen the sparring with Arya, for he had been too busy with his own part in the battle to observe Eragon, but from what he had seen, Eragon was a good swordsman – for a human.

"Be my guest." He said, before beginning to train. Imrik seated himself on a stump nearby. Eragon began slowly, swinging Zar'roc in controlled, measured arcs. He gradually began to speed up, flowing from one form to another. Imrik saw that he had immersed himself in a sea of imaginary enemies, for the scowl on his face told of his concentrated wrath. Suddenly, in an attempt to flip his sword from one palm to the other, Eragon dropped Zar'roc and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Imrik lunged to catch him before his head hit the ground, cradling him as he would a wounded person. Arya dashed over just as Eragon's eyes closed. Together, they lifted him into the tent Imrik and Eragon shared, laying him on his bed.

"This scar is a curse. It is not just my Lord's will at work here, some foul magic is inside the wound. It will taunt him for the rest of his life. I have made him a cripple." Said Imrik in despair. Arya gave him a hard look before trying to alleviate some of Eragon's pain. After a few minutes, she stopped her ministrations.

"Come. He needs to rest." She said, before taking his hand and leading him away.

Hours later, Imrik saw Eragon exit their tent in a fury. The boy grabbed some food and stalked off to the edge of camp, Orik in hot pursuit. He looked back at the tent and saw Arya leave and sigh. She headed over to where he sat, gazing at the sky as the stars winked into existence. She sat at his side.

"If his condition continues to worsen, he will be incapacitated before long." She said in a low whisper.

"I know. Yet we cannot interfere. My Lord is watching him as much as he is me, he has some plan for him. Until that plan is revealed, I dare not pray for the removal of Eragon's scar." Said Imrik in the same hushed tone. He hung his head in sadness.

After a while, Eragon returned to the camp, apologising to the dwarves for his behaviour then retiring to his tent. Imrik yawned and excused himself from Arya's company, heading to the tent to apologise to Eragon. When he entered, Eragon was playing with a set of interlocking golden bands. The boy looked up as he entered and smiled at him.

"Ah Imrik, I haven't seen you since I awoke. Come, look at this puzzle Orik has given me. The bands form a ring when aligned right. Have a try." He said, holding out the jumble of gold. Imrik picked it up, looked over it, then began to try different methods of interlocking the bands. After a few tries, he hit upon the correct pattern and the ring clicked into being.

"Aha! A delightful puzzle." Exclaimed Imrik as he solved it. He shook it once and it returned to its original state. He handed it back to Eragon who looked dismayed and envious.

"How did you solve it so quickly? I've been working on that for hours!" he exclaimed, trying again to fit the pieces together. Imrik laughed.

"Elves have keener sight than humans, Eragon. Don't stay up to late trying to solve it, you need your rest." He said smiling as he got into bed. Eragon merely grunted a response, fixated on the task.

The next morning, Eragon looked tired and yet the golden bands remained as they were. Imrik chuckled. "What did I tell you, airhead? Not to stay up to late!" he mock scolded. Eragon glared at him before muttering something under his breath and moving away. Imrik followed him to where Saphira and Arya were sitting and standing respectively, watching the dawn. Imrik looked around for Gwihir and saw the dragon lying in the shadows of the beach trees. Imrik walked to stand next to him.

"_Is this our lot? Or shall we join them?_" he asked Gwihir, his pride tweaked a bit. Gwihir gave a mental grin before they walked up to stand next to Arya. The new day burning with a fierce light, reminding Imrik of the flames of Asuryan, the night he had healed Eragon. The fire stood for rebirth, as did the new day. It was a good sight to see. Eragon looked over at him and grinned. Imrik grinned back. Arya looked at Imrik and smiled, then turned to Eragon, presumably to mirror her actions to the younger Rider. Eragon met her eyes then flushed and looked downwards.

"_Oh no. Of all the women, he had to fall for her._" Said Imrik to Gwihir, instantly recognising the blush for what it was. He had seen it himself on many a youth. What he didn't understand was the strange twinge of anger and .. was that jealousy? Yes, that was it. Envy and jealousy, something he had only felt a few times. Then he realised why he was feeling these things. Oh gods! I'm infatuated with Arya!

**POV change, back to Lutheni**

She had been walking most of today and all of yesterday and frankly, she was frustrated with the whole journey. Again her mind drifted to wondering where she was. She wasn't in Ulthuan anymore, that much was certain. Nor could she be in Lustria, or the Old World, or the Badlands or Naggaroth. She could not even be in Araby or far Cathay. No, she concluded again, she was not in her own world. But then where was she?

She swung her axe into the ground in frustration and anger. She sat down and huffed for a few minutes before her anger abated and she began to walk again.

"A curse upon walking." She muttered as she trudged towards the mountains. They were less than a day away now, though it was getting late..

She sighed and kept on walking, whistling to keep her mind from boiling in anger and frustration. Birds began to take up her melody, chirping and trilling along, following the notes she set for them. Laughing, she began to sing, listening to the birds adjust their songs to match her own. Thus she was entertained all the way to when she broke her walking to hunt for food. She found a plump fowl and killed it with a thrown stone. After plucking and cleaning the carcass, she roasted the meat over the fire she had built to keep her warm and to cook her food. The meat was tasty, the gamey flesh of the bird filled her stomach faster than she had hoped, leaving her with a leg and a wing still to eat.

She sighed and was about to throw them into the river when an idea struck her. She took down as many broad leaves as possible and, using grass for thread and a piece of bone for her needle, made herself a small pack to carry the food in. Delighted with her work, she placed her left-over's inside and settled down to sleep under her cloak.

When she awoke, it was about an hour or so before dawn. Yawning, she trekked towards the mountains again which, thanks to the singing of the birds, were considerably closer. She reached a confluence of two rivers just before midday, and squatted down to eat her fowl before moving on. Then she saw the rafts.

There were two of them, floating down towards here. Dwarves milled about on the decks. Each raft had a small hut in the centre. Lutheni, thinking back automatically to what she had been taught about dwarves, dived into the bushed and tress behind her. There she sat waiting for the rafts to pass her by.

As they came within hailing distance, Lutheni noticed another figure on the raft. An elf woman, with long black hair, pale skin and Emerald eyes. She seemed to be looking out across the valley with no apparent target for her gaze. Then Lutheni heard the whistle.

She threw herself to the side, but not fast enough. The arrow slammed into the cloth of her tunic, pinning her to the tree behind her. Another arrow sung forwards, pinning her other arm just below the elbow. The rafts slowed to an almost stop as the archer emerged from the cabin in the centre of the lead raft. She could not believe her eyes.

**Back to Imrik**

Imrik had caught the flicker of movement as they had rounded a spur of rock and had instantly reached for his bow. The thing, whatever it was, had been too large and too quick for a deer. Stringing his bow and fitting an arrow to the string, he stared at the place he had seen the movement.

What he saw, were a pair of pale blue eyes staring at the rafts. The face to which those eyes belonged to was hidden, yet Imrik could make out the outline of a vaguely humanoid figure hiding in the bushes. At that moment, Arya walked past the hut and out onto the front of the raft. Imrik looked back at the eyes. They had shifted and were regarding Arya with a mixture of confusion, awe and a slowly kindling anger.

Standing and aiming, Imrik released his arrow, aiming to pin the intruder to the tree behind them. It must have worked for the thump of a body hitting wood pierced the tranquillity of the riverbank. Imrik drew and fired again, aiming for where he could see the intruders other arm rising to grab the arrow he had just shot. He pinning them just below the elbow, stopping the arm's further movement. Then he walked out of the shadows, telling the dwarves to pull them up against the river bank. That's when he heard the scream.

"Gwindorian!" the name rebounded across the water, startling birds and shocking everybody, even the dragons. Imrik was the one to jump the most. He knew that voice.

"**Of all the cowardly, arrogant, selfish, annoying, worthless and weak minded fools, I find you?**" Lutheni – for it could only be her – continued her rant in high elves for long enough for the dwarves to pull up and moor the rafts next to the line of bushes behind which she was concealed. Imrik pulled back the shrubs to reveal a very angry and very dirty looking Lutheni. At the sight of him she scowled and said in the tough of the humans, "Took your time, didn't you?" At this, Imrik could stand it no more. He burst out laughing, falling to the floor and rolling around, clutching his stomach as waves of mirth rocked his body. Everyone, even Lutheni, appeared perplexed by his reaction. When he had recovered. He approached Lutheni and pulled the arrows out of the tree.

He jumped back just in time. Lutheni's fist swung through the air, whistling as it went, though connecting with nothing. Imrik held up his hands in surrender as she advanced on him, axe in hand. "Lutheni, calm down. We need to talk about what you are doing here and where we are. Listen to me!" she came so close to him they were practically nose to nose. Then she head-butted him, still with her helm on. Imrik stumbled back in pain, clutching his forehead where the ilthilmar had cut into his skin.

"**Now**," she said In high elven again, "**we can talk.**"

**A/N:**** Right then, another chapter done, how'd you find it? Love it? Hate it? Feel free to tell me in your reviews! I update faster with reviews to motivate me! Thanks again to master of the Blood Wolves and Albericus from reviewing and helping me along with this story.**

**Caledor out.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**A/N: ****Right... Yeah. Don't think sorry really cuts it guys. I have a whole raft of excuses and reasons as to why the chapter has taken me 5 months, but you probably want me to shut up and get on with it, so that is what I shall do. Moving onwards, Lutheni and Arya... meet I think is the kindest way I can put it, travelling through Du Weldenvarden and some other stuff. **

**Bold text = High Elven.**

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own anything except my characters. **

Imrik groaned as he lent back against a sack inside the cabin on the front raft. He cast his mind back to the events of the day, holding his head in his hands as the memories came flooding back. Since Lutheni had come aboard, it seemed his life was destined to get a lot harder. After healing his head, Imrik had introduced her to everyone on the rafts. She had been polite to the dwarves, which had surprised Imrik. She had liked Saphira and spoken to her animatedly before moving on to Eragon and Arya. That was where the trouble had started. Arya was not taken with Lutheni's cloak, and had been very vocal on the subject. Lutheni had responded in her typical fashion. She had pushed Arya lightly on the shoulder, Arya had pushed back and well... it had ended with Arya in the river and Lutheni screaming while hanging upside-down from the cabin roof.

That was an hour ago. Now, Arya was fuming at one end of the raft, and Lutheni was fuming at the other end of the other raft. Imrik had tried to make them see sense. He had ended up in the river with a bloody nose. _At least they have something in common; they like to hit me_ he thought sourly. Gwihir chuckled and Imrik sent him a mental growl. A shadow appeared in the doorway. Imrik looked up to see Eragon standing in front of him.

"We'll be stopping soon. I just wanted to ask you something" the boy said. Imrik gestured for him to sit down across from him. Eragon crossed his legs and sat down beside the door. "I have been wondering... why do Lutheni's people kill the lions?"

Imrik breathed a sigh of relief. Since that morning on the hill, Imrik had seen flushes creep up Eragon's cheeks whenever he looked at Arya. Imrik had thought Eragon had come to ask him about his feelings, and was thankful he hadn't. "Lutheni comes from the land of Chrace. It is a harsh land, full of mountains and dangerous animals; manticores, chimeras, etcetera. They are also one of the northern kingdoms, so their country is one of the main invasion routes for the Dark Elves. Chrace breeds hard elves, some of the best fighters available. They and they alone, have the honour to guard the Phoenix King. The lions are a rite of passage for them; a hunter is not a hunter until he has slain one in single combat. They thrive in the landscape and their numbers must be carefully controlled or they will overrun the settlements."

"Why not just befriend them?" Eragon asked.

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Imrik's lips. "You have not met the lions of Chrace. They are as fierce as dragons and as tall as horses. Fighting one is a terrifying thing, I know because I have done it. There is no peace to be had with them, for they wouldn't be them if they weren't peaceful. The only tame lions pull war chariots for the warriors of Chrace."

"You've fought one?" asked Eragon, his eyes sparkling with wonder. Imrik grinned and moved to the saddle next to him. Reaching into the depths of the saddle-bag, he drew out the long, snow-white pelt and laid it out for Eragon's inspection. The boy ran his fingers over the coat, his eyes alight with excitement. He raised it up and held the weight in his hands. He was about to swing it over his shoulders when another shadow fell through the doorway, this one belonging to Arya. Her eyes swept across them, fixing on the cloak, flashing to Imrik and back to Eragon. Cold fury burned in her eyes and her mouth was a firm line of rage.

"So, you too participate in this cruel and unnecessary hunting. But not content are you with killing this poor beast, you must display its pelt to satisfy your pride and vanity. I had thought you better than this, Imrik. Now I find that those thoughts were misplaced. I am ashamed that –"

She was cut off when Imrik stood and stared her straight in the eyes. "Be silent, Arya, for your rage has made you blind. This pelt is not the source of your anger. Have you forgotten everything I have told you about my people? Your race is young; you know nothing of the horror of living in constant war. Do not be so swift to apply your rules and morals to a culture thousands of years older than your own. You have not lived in Chrace, nor Caledor, or Saphrey, have you? You cannot judge us until you know us. Your rage only shows that you know nothing of Lutheni, and nothing of me. Learn who we are, then you may think differently." And with that, Imrik took the cloak from Eragon's finger and threw it over his shoulders. "I look forward to meeting you again when you know who I am" he brushed past Arya and as he did so, he felt his heart-strings pull taught.

Gwihir swooped down and plucked him off the deck. Huddled up in fur, Imrik flew until nightfall, contemplating his words to Arya. She had stepped on his pride and insulted his people; he had pointed out her flaws and showed her where she was wrong. But he could not escape the feeling that she would think that he had ended their friendship. He looked at it from her point of view over and over, seeing he had made her feel inferior, ignorant and stupid. He valued her friendship more than he was prepared to admit, but could he justify that friendship if she was not prepared to accept him and his people? Gwihir remained silent throughout, simply letting Imrik bounce his thoughts off him.

Eventually, they descended and Imrik walked to Eragon's tent, not seeing Arya anywhere. He ducked inside. Arya was sitting on his bed, turning something over and over in her hands. She looked up when he entered and met his gaze. She stood.

"I... I've come to apologise. What I said was foolish and fuelled by ungrounded anger. You were right, I know nothing of your culture, for all that you have told me. I have not lived with the threat of war every day of my life. I have not experienced the things you have, nor do I know who you are truly. I have had but a glimpse of your personality, a glance at your culture. I hope that I can learn more about your people, and come to understand you as a person. Would you help me do this? I value your friendship Imrik; I don't want to lose it because of my ignorance."

Imrik was silent for a time, then said, "I thank you for your apology. I was afraid you would not understand. I want to remain friends, Arya, but to do so; you must understand who we are. I will teach you all that I know of my people, but in the end it is up to you to understand the reasoning behind our ways. If you can do that, we will be firm friends once more." Imrik smiled when he said this. Arya smiled as well. She approached him and bowed her head slightly. Imrik mirrored her actions. They straightened together.

"I wanted you to have this, as a token of reconciliation." She placed a small stone in his hand. Imrik turned it over and found a rune marked on each side. On one side, a symbol that looked like a crescent moon with a wing, on the other, the symbol of Asuryan. "I remembered that symbol was the one on your shield. I know it has some great significance to you. Goodnight Imrik." She said and walked out into the night.

A few days later, they reach Hedarth, which Imrik considered a minor miracle considering the amount of fighting that Arya and Lutheni had done over the time. Arya had endeavoured to improve her knowledge of Ulthuan and the culture of the High Elves, something Imrik had helped her with. Lutheni however, had a different method of sharing cultures, which involved attacking Arya with her axe. After two duels ended in with the hunter in the river and Arya bleeding, Imrik had taken the axe away from her until she had calmed down. Arya had then turned Lutheni's hair blue, in vengeance. This had ended with an irate Arya with very little hair left on her scalp and Lutheni being disarmed of her knife by Imrik. The fact that the two women shared a tent was not helping things, but there was little else they could do, they had no spares.

At Hedarth, they traded their rafts for mules and an extra tent, the dwarves being fed up on not getting to sleep before midnight due to the shouting matches from next door. Arya had stubbornly refused the 'noble steed', commenting, "I will _not_ return to the land of my ancestors on the back of a donkey." She had elected to run instead, and run she did, out-stripping everyone only to wait at the next hill. Lutheni had grumbled and moaned about the donkeys, using hers to carry her armour and axe while she jogged alongside Imrik, who had also refused the offer of a steed.

They trekked up the river toward the Eldor Lake. With each step Arya became more tense and agitated. She spoke little and even her arguments with Lutheni became less frequent. One night when Imrik was telling her the stories of Caledor I, she had suddenly excused herself and left him, wandering to the riverbank and sitting there until dawn. Imrik had approached her over this the next morning, but had received little in the way of an answer in return.

Du Weldenvarden came into view within three days. A dark haze of green on the horizon was all they could see in the early morning light. Imrik decided to fly with Gwihir to get a better view of the land, Eragon joining him on Saphira. Lutheni insisted on coming too, saying she wanted to rest her feet. She sat behind Imrik, one arm around his waist, the other waving in the air while she whooped and yelled with excitement. Imrik laughed freely at her joy and urged Gwihir to more tricks, the dragon diving and looping, spinning around in the air and swooping low to the ground.

But despite the excitement, Imrik felt a shiver of unease. Beneath the boughs of those ancient oaks, the rest of Arya's race dwelt. He had no idea what sort of reception he and Lutheni would receive at the hands of a race of people whose morals and ideals were so different from his own. Judging by Arya's reaction, Imrik was ready to keep his weapons close. Lutheni seemed to sense his disquiet, stopping her exuberant shouting to lean around him side and give him a quizzical look. He smiled half-heartedly.

"It is nothing. Come, we must land." He said turning to look toward the imposing wall of trees. Whatever awaited them inside; Imrik would meet it like a son of Caledor.

That night, as Eragon and Imrik were about to go to bed, Arya appeared at Eragon's shoulder, silent as a wraith. Eragon jumped and Imrik smirked at his reaction. Imrik was about to ask her what she wanted when she touched his mind.

"_Follow me as silently as you can." _

Imrik nodded and Eragon looked over at him, confusion written on his face as Arya moved away. Imrik shrugged and walked after the receding elf woman. They slipped out of the ring of tents, evaded Tríhga, who was on watch, and passed out of the hearing of the dwarves. Their escape however had been noticed. As the reached a small clearing, Lutheni leapt down from the branches of the nearest tree, axe in hand. Arya eyed her up, then said, "Follow me; you will need to know this also."

Lutheni looked stunned as Arya walked past her and squatted on a mossy log, wrapping her arms around her knees. Imrik just shrugged and lent back against a nearby tree. Eragon squatted across from Arya with Lutheni sitting with her back against a tree to his right.

"There are things you must know before we reach Ceris and Ellesméra so that you do not shame yourself or me through your ignorance."

"Such as?" asked Eragon.

Arya hesitated. "During my years as Islanzadí's ambassador, it was my observation that humans and dwarves are quite similar. You share many of the same beliefs and passions. More than one human has lived comfortably among the dwarves because he or she can understand their culture, as they understand yours. You both love, lust, hate, fight and create in much the same manner. Your friendship with Orik and your acceptance into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are examples of this." Eragon nodded. "Elves, though, are not like other races."

"You speak as though you weren't one," said Eragon.

"I have lived with the Varden for enough years to become accustomed to their traditions." Arya said in a sour tone.

"Ah ... so then do you mean to say that elves don't have the same emotions as dwarves and humans? I find that hard to believe. All living things have the same basic needs and desires."

Imrik winced as Arya snapped back, "That is not what I mean to say!" Eragon recoiled as if stung. Lutheni smirked. Arya closed her eyes and placed her fingers on her temples, taking a long breath. "Because elves live for so many years, we consider courtesy to be the highest social virtue. You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility from accumulating. It doesn't always succeed, but we adhere to our rituals rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. Nor are elves fecund, so it is vital that we avoid conflict among ourselves. If we shared the same rate of crime as you or the dwarves, we would soon be extinct."

"Much like our own people; except courtesy isn't what holds us together." Commented Imrik, nodding his head and looking at Lutheni. She looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded her agreement.

Arya nodded and continued. "You must understand. There is a proper way to greet the sentinels in Ceris, certain patterns and forms that you all must observe when presented to Queen Islanzadí, and a hundred different manners in which to greet those around you, if it's not better to just remain quiet."

"With all your customs," Eragon said, "It seems as though you've only made it easier to offend people."

Imrik chuckled and a smile flickered onto Arya's lips. "Perhaps. You know as well as I that you will be judged by the highest standards. If you make a mistake, the elves will think you did it on purpose. And only harm will come if they discover that it was born of ignorance. Far better to be thought rude and capable than rude and incapable, else you risk being manipulated like The Serpent in a match of Runes. Our politics move in cycles that are both subtle and lengthy. What you see or hear of an elf may have no bearing on how that elf will behave tomorrow. It is a game we all play but few control, a game you are all about to enter."

Imrik made a disgusted snort. He hated politics in any form, and elvish politics were the worst. At least humans and dwarves were rather straight forward with their thoughts. Elves were another matter entirely. Lutheni seemed to agree with him. She was a warrior, not a speaker.

"Now perhaps you realise why I say my race are not like others. The dwarves are also long-lived, yet they are more prolific than us and do not share our restraint nor our taste for intrigue. The Asur are perhaps the closes to us, yet the constant war of your world has set your politics to different tracks and so different values are important in your society. And humans..." she tailed off into an encouraging silence.

"Humans to the best they can with what they are given." Replied Eragon.

"Even so."

"Why don't you tell Orik this as well? He'll be staying in Ellesméra, same as me."

Arya's voice took on an edge. "He is already somewhat familiar with our etiquette. However, as a Rider, you would do well to appear better educated than him."

"What must we learn?"

For the next hour or so, Arya tutored them, and through Imrik and Eragon, the dragons, in the various forms, patterns and words used to address different dignitaries and nobles. Imrik committed them to memory, the way to address the queen of the elves firmly in the front of his mind. He began to wonder about the queen and what kind of a ruler she was. Ulthaun had never had a female Phoenix King, mainly because it was impractical to carry on the line of the Everqueens if her sacred mate was of the same sex.

He looked over to Arya to ask her about her monarch but the question died on his lips. He scrutinised her closely, keenly surveying the lines of her face, a suspicion forming in his mind. Arya must be of noble birth, there was no other way that she would have such bearing and command, but also the delicacy needed to deal with the niceties of court. He would watch her closely as they got closer to Ellesméra, and surely the way the sentinels in Ceris greeted her would be some indication of her status.

Suddenly Arya stood and dusted herself off. "So long as you do not forget," she said, speaking mainly to Eragon but it was clear that she was dismissing the other two as well, "you'll do well enough." She turned to leave.

"Wait." Eragon said, reaching out to stop Arya, then snatching his hand back before she could notice his presumption. She looked over her shoulder, the question evident in her eyes. "Are you well, Arya? ... You've seemed distracted and out of sorts ever since we left Hedarth." Imrik looked at her curiously. Eragon was right, and Imrik had approached Arya before on the issue but she had not been forthcoming and he had let her be. Now, Eragon's boorish and intrusive style of questioning may lead to a few clues as to what was wrong.

This hope was blown out of the water as Arya's face hardened into an expressionless mask. "When we are in Du Weldenvarden," she told him venomously, "I expect that you will not speak to me in such a familiar way, unless you want to cause affront." She threw her head in the air and stalked away. Imrik smirked, she was definitely noble born.

After a moment's hesitation, Eragon sprinted after Arya, jumping in front of her to stop her. Imrik followed at a more cautious pace, not wanting to intrude. He only caught one part of the conversation between them, and what he heard chilled him.

"I am afraid." Arya said as she stepped past Eragon and back toward the camp, leaving the teenager standing stock still, shock written over his face. Imrik clapped him on the shoulder and lead him back to the tent.

On the night of the fourth day, the Edda River drew close to the fringe of Du Weldenvarden. They went single file down a goat trail through tangled trees and wild roses in full bloom, filling the night with their heavy smell. Not even their sweet perfume could ease the tension building in Imrik's chest. His hand never strayed from his sword hilt and his eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for signs of an ambush. Lutheni was the same, she stayed close to Imrik's side, axe in hand. Gwihir flew with Saphira, his apprehension the exact opposite to Saphira's impatience.

"_Be on your guard, Gwihir. Old powers walk in these woods._" Said Imrik as they pushed deeper into the mass of trees.

"_Aye. Here, there is power enough to change the world._" Replied the dragon.

At last, they reach a meadow where the trees receded and the river ran alongside them. "Stop here." Arya told them. Imrik eyed the fringes of the forest with wary eyes from under the hood of his cloak. Arya walked forward until she stood in the middle of the lush green grass, totally alone. Suddenly, she cried out in the ancient language, "Come forth my brethren! You have nothing to fear, 'Tis I, Arya of Ellesméra. My companions are friends and allies; they mean us no harm." She added more words, but Imrik's knowledge of the ancient language failed him.

For several long minutes, the only sound was the current of the river and the swish of the grass in the meadow, until from the still leaves of the forest came a line in the ancient language, so quick Imrik missed its meaning. Arya seemed to understand and responded: "I do."

With a rustle that made Imrik jump due to his tense nerves, two elves emerged at the edge of the forest and two more ran out on the boughs of a tall and ancient oak. The elves on the ground bore long spears with white blades, those in the tree held bows. They all wore tunics the colour of tree bark and moss, helping them blend in with their forest home. Their flowing cloaks were clasped at the neck with broached that looked like ivory, but Imrik had a suspicion that it was actually carved wood. One had hair as black as his own; the rest had bright silver hair that shone in the star light.

The elves dropped from the trees and ran to embrace Arya, laughing in clear, musical voices. It almost made Imrik think he was at home, with his mother, father, sister and elder brother. Well, before the war had come again and his brother had been killed by daemons. This sickening jolt of reality brought him back to the world. He turned his attention to the elves, who were dancing and singing as they spun around Arya in a circle. Imrik smiled ruefully. This wasn't helping him figure out Arya's status at all. Imrik looked over at Eragon to find him looking enchanted. He rolled his eyes and asked Gwihir to come to his side.

When the two dragons alighted on the ground, the elves raised cries of alarm and aimed their weapons at them. Arya spoke in quick and soothing tones, gesturing to Saphira and Eragon, then Gwihir and Imrik. When she paused for breath, Eragon drew off his glove and tilted his palm to let the moonlight shine off the gedwëy ignasia. The boy then spoke in the ancient language. "Eka fricai un Shur'tugal." I am a Rider and a friend. Imrik smiled and repeated the phrase, lowering his hood. He touched his first two fingers to his lips, remembering yesterday's teachings, and said the first line of the greeting, "Atra esterní ono thelduin." Eragon repeated the gesture a few seconds after Imrik.

The elves lowered their weapons and stared with evident wonder and overwhelming joy at the two dragons. They pressed their fingers to their lips and bowed, murmuring their replies.

They straightened, pointed at the dwarves and laughed as if they were some joke. They drifted back towards the forest, waving their hands and saying, "Come! Come!"

Imrik followed Eragon and Saphira with Gwihir by his side as Arya lead them deeper into the forest, the dwarves grumbling behind them all the way. Imrik could hear the elves flitting back and forth in the trees, laughing and whispering all around. He could pick out their movements with his peripheral vision, the purple dark of the forest only broken by shafts of moonbeams, like arrows of white light. Whenever Eragon or the dwarves strayed from the path, the elves would sing out directions for them to follow. Lutheni was silent throughout, and her year in the forests allowed her not to get lost.

Ahead, firelight flickered through the trees. Around the base of a large oak, three small huts were clustered. High above them, a roofed platform had been built which allowed a watchman to observe the surrounding forest and plains. Imrik was surprised they had not been seen earlier. A pole had been lashed between two of the huts, bundles of dried fruit and vegetables hanging from it.

Their hosts vanished into the huts, then emerged with armfuls of fruit and vegetables. Imrik noted that, in accordance with Arya's teachings, there was no meat. They began preparing a meal, humming as they worked. They reminded Imrik of songbirds, flitting from one tune to another as the whim took them. Orik asked their names and the dark-haired elf replied. "I am Lifaen of House Rílvenar. And my companions are Edurna, Celdin and Narí."

Imrik sat down with Gwihir behind him, the green dragon lounging next to Saphira. Lutheni came over and sat down next to him. Imrik looked over at her. Her face was set with suspicion and dislike. He suspected that the dislike written on Lutheni's face was for Arya alone, but the suspicion could be applied to the elves as a whole. Imrik himself had loosened up slightly since entering the forest. They hadn't been attacked yet and the ancient language had allowed him to say he was a friend to the elves.

"**Lutheni.**" Imrik said. She looked over at him. "**You must be calm. They bear us no ill will. They could be good friends to our people**."

"**But why do you want to be friends with them, Imrik?**" Asked Lutheni, her tone accusing. "**Why couldn't you have just left well enough alone and not got yourself entangled in a war, dragging me along with you.**"

"**You know well enough why. I would not let thousands of people die so that I could have the comfort of peace. I will fight in this war, thousands may die, but all shall share in the peace at the end, one way or another.**" Imrik relied.

"**Even if it ends in your death?**" Asked Lutheni, looking at him closely.

"**Even so.**" Replied Imrik. Lutheni rolled her eyes and curled up in her cloak. Within minutes she was sound asleep. Imrik smiled wryly at her slumbering form, then looked out at the elves again. They were whispering softly to one another, too low for any but an elf to hear. Imrik would have smirked, but they were talking in the ancient language and he only understood a few of the words. One of the group, Narí, noticed Imrik was watching them. Slowly the conversation halted and the elves turned to look at him. Now Imrik smirked. He got to his feet and walked over.

"My friends, this is Imrik Gwindorian, the elf from another world." Said Arya. The rest of the elves looked at him with obvious curiosity. Imrik bowed his head slightly.

"I do not see much difference in you, Imrik Gwindorian. You appear to be much like us." Said Lifaen.

"Looks can be deceiving. Our cultures are very different, yet I still believe we can be friends to each other. After all, I am a Rider. I am the bridge between our two peoples. Much like human Riders in fact." Replied Imrik with a smile. They seemed to consider this and come to the same conclusion.

"Then welcome to Du Weldenvarden, Imrik–finiarel." Said Edurna, grinning. Imrik grinned back.

"My thanks. Goodnight." Said Imrik, turning back to Gwihir and settling down in the crook of the dragon's scaly neck.

Imrik was woken by the tickle of sunlight on his face. He opened his eyes and looked around, surveying the forest in the morning light. He noticed that, because of the height of the canopy, there was very little in the way of an understory. This allowed Imrik to see for great distances into the trees.

He got to his feet and awoke Gwihir with a flick of his thoughts. He walked over to Lutheni and shook her gently. Her eyes snapped open and she nodded her understanding. Imrik noticed that the dwarves were packing up, getting ready to leave. He had missed that decision last night because he was talking with Lutheni so he decided to say goodbye. He thanked the dwarves for their protection and generosity. Thorv promised to carry his words to Ûndin and warned him about the nature of the elves. Imrik thanked him and walked away to help Lutheni untie her gear from her donkey.

Eragon awoke and, after a few words with Thorv, transferred his horse to the dwarves. Imrik and Gwihir joined him, Saphira and Orik in seeing the dwarves off. The small group trekked back up the path they had come by, vanishing through the scrubs and trees.

They returned to the huts and followed the elves through the trees to a thicket near the Edda River. Docked next to a boulder were two long, white canoes with vines carved along their sides.

Imrik boarded the far canoe with Arya and Lifaen. He stowed his pack and the saddle bags with his armour and supplies under the seats. Gwihir's armour, even when collapsed, was too bulky to be carried in the canoes, so the dragon carried it in the saddle bags on his back. Orik, Eragon and Narí took the nearer one. Lutheni, seeing Imrik in the same canoe as Arya, made a beeline for Eragon's canoe. Imrik marvelled at the way the canoe had been made. He guessed they had been sung into shape, like Arya had said when they had talked under Farthen Dûr. Arya turned to talk to Edurna and Celdin, who remained on the bank.

"Guard this way so that none may follow us, and tell no-one of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. I will send reinforcements as soon as we reach Sílthrim."

"Arya Dröttningu."

"May the stars watch over you!" Arya replied.

Leaning down, Lifaen and Narí drew ten foot long spiked poles from the bottom of the boats and began to push them away from the bank and upstream. Saphira and Gwihir slid into the water, forcing the banks to swell with their bulks. The elves laughed as Saphira submerged under the water, making many comments about her size and strength. Imrik felt Gwihir's annoyance rise and smirked.

"My, Saphira!" He exclaimed loudly, "You are indeed the mightiest dragon alive, your strength is unparalleled and your beauty is such that the sun and the stars will – agh!"

Imrik was cut off by a wave of water that swamped his canoe, soaking him, Arya and Lifaen totally. Gwihir glared at him from the side, his forearm raised to deliver another wave of water to the canoe.

"_Close your mouth; you may swallow more of the river that you'd like._" The green dragon said to him. Imrik stared him in the eye, then burst out laughing. The others joined him and soon the forest was ringing with their mirth.

An hour later, and they reached the Eldor Lake. The surface was rough with small waves, cat's-paws as men called them. Birds and insects swarmed around the western shore where the water moved slower and a wall of trees rose. The eastern shore was open to the plain and hundreds of dear meandered across it. Many stopped to observe their passing.

Once they had escaped the current of the river, Lifaen and Narí distributed leaf-bladed paddles. Imrik had seen their like before, and so needed no instruction. Eragon and Lutheni however, had to be taught what to do. Imrik let his mind wander as they paddled up the lake, lost in memories of days gone past.

In the days that followed, Imrik had a lot of time for thought. Although Narí and Lifaen were always singing and laughing, Imrik could not join the jovial mood. When asked for a song from his people by Narí, Imrik had sung a song that had been composed many centuries earlier, as something that could be used throughout time. It was called _A Lament for the Ages_. Afterwards, the elves looked perplexed and slightly sad, but Lutheni, who had understood the words of High Elven, had tears rolling down her cheeks.

Imrik found that melancholy came easy to him now, on the days drifting along the surface of the water. He remembered once meeting the High Archmage, Teclis, and the warning the sour prince had given him. "You are young, Imrik. Be careful when you are older, for the deeds of the past will come forth to haunt the present and the future." Imrik had told him that he would have no need to revel in past glories, for he would simply be carving himself new ones. At this the mage had laughed in his face. Now Imrik knew the cynical scholar had been right, and that did little to improve his mood.

One morning, as Eragon yet again failed to catch Lifaen and Narí asleep, Imrik sensed something was wrong. He looked around for the source of his discomfort, settling on Eragon just as the boy pulled an amulet from under his tunic. Saphira rushed to his side and Imrik jogged over as well. Eragon bounced the amulet on his palm, then tucked it under his clothes again. Once he had explained what had happened, Imrik knew his feeling was justified. If someone was looking for Eragon, then they were probably after him too. Knowing his enemies were trying to spy on him made Imrik angry and this anger helped him push away his thoughts of the past for a while as they broke camp and travelled up the river again.

Within an hour, however, they encountered an obstacle. A waterfall, at least a hundred feet tall, plunged downwards from a crumbling cliff top. The impact of water on water produced a dull roar that filled the forest, drowning out all other sounds.

"How do we get past that?" asked Eragon, nearly shouting over the noise.

Lifaen pointed to the left shore, away from the fall, where a trail had been carved out into the steep ridge. "We have to portage our canoes and supplies for half a league before the river clears."

The beached the boats, then untied the loads from under the seats and began to even the loads up. Once this was done, they all shoved their new loads into their packs. Imrik heard Eragon grunt under the weight.

"_Would you like to make yourself useful for once, Gwihir?_" Imrik asked with a smirk. The dragon looked at the piled packs and then at Saphira. Eragon turned to the elves and repeated Saphira's offer. Lifaen looked horrified at the thought.

"We would never dream of using a dragon as a beast of burden. It would dishonour you, Saphira – and Eragon as Shur'tugal – and it would shame our hospitality."

"_Bah. This is foolishness._" Said Gwihir. He hooked his talons through the packs shoulder straps and jumped into the air. He was followed by Saphira who took up the two canoes, shouting back with her mind, "_Catch us if you can!_"

A trill of laugher echoed after them. Imrik grinned to here Arya laugh once more, it had been too long. Eragon, even though he had heard her laugh before, seemed amazed at the sound. "You have much to learn if you presume to tell dragons what they may or may not do."

"But the dishonour – "

"It is no dishonour if it is done of their free will," insisted Arya. "Now, let us go before we waste more time."

Half an hour later, they topped the ridge and walked past the dangerous white water to an area where the Gaena River was as smooth as a looking glass. The dragons were waiting for them, Gwihir licking his talons as Saphira caught fish, jabbing her triangular head into the water like a heron. The boats lay in front of them, the packs piled to the side.

Arya called them over and said to both dragons and Riders, "Beyond the next curve lies Ardwen Lake and, on its western shore, Sílthrim, one of our greatest cities. Past that, a vast expanse of forest still separates us from Ellesméra. We will encounter many elves close to Sílthrim. However, I don't want any of you to be seen until we speak with Queen Islanzadí."

"Why is that?" asked Imrik, echoing Gwihir's thoughts.

"Your presence represents a great and terrible change for our kingdom, especially you, Imrik and Gwihir. Such shifts are dangerous unless handled with care. The queen must be the first to meet with you. Only she has the authority and wisdom to oversee this transition."

"You speak highly of her." Commented Eragon.

Imrik watched Arya closely, the reactions of Narí and Lifaen showing this question was unexpected. Arya's face went blank, then she drew herself up with pride to rival Imrik's own and replied: "She has led us well... Eragon, I know you carry a hooded cape from Tronjheim. Until we are free of possible observers, will you wear it and keep your head covered so that none can see your rounded ears and know that you are human?" the boy nodded. "Imrik, you have your own cape. Will you do the same?" Imrik nodded with a smile. "Saphira, Gwihir, you must hide during the morning and catch up with us at night. Ajihad told me that is what you did in the Empire, Saphira."

"_I don't want to be parted from Imrik, is it truly necessary?_" asked Gwihir.

"It's only for today and tomorrow. After that we will be far enough away from Sílthrim that we won't have to worry about encountering anyone of consequence." Pleaded Arya.

Saphira looked at Eragon, paddled up and down the bank, then gave her consent. Gwihir looked at Imrik, asking the silent question. Imrik gave a nod and Gwihir also accepted. Saphira must have said something else to Arya for she replied, "I understand. You will still have to be careful when flying after dark, as elves can see clearly on all but the blackest nights. If you are sighted by chance, you may be attacked by magic."

"_Oh joy._" Said Gwihir.

While the others repacked the boats, the two dragons and Riders searched for a suitable hiding place. They decided that a dry hollow rimmed by weather-beaten rocks was suitable. It had a soft bed of pine needles to lie on. Saphira curled up and nodded to Eragon. Gwihir lay next to her.

"_Go, I will see you again tonight._" The green dragon said, his scales blending in with the forest surroundings. Imrik smiled slightly, nodded and left. At the river, Imrik pulled up his hood, as did Eragon, and the journey continued. Imrik cast his mind back, almost certain now that he knew who Arya's mother was and the meaning of the word Dröttningu.

When they came upon the Ardwen Lake, the wind was still, letting the water lie still as beaten silver. The reflection was perfect, a mirror image of the trees lining the shores. Stars winked in the cool water as they did in the sky. Imrik thought it might be a dream.

On the far side of the lake, small white boats much like their own were propelled at great speeds across the surface of the water by the great strength of the elves. He kept his eyes down, careful to avoid looking too closely at the pilots of the vessels.

Imrik's melancholy returned as his link with Gwihir grew ever more tenuous. By dusk, he could no longer feel his presence. He almost cried aloud at the feeling of emptiness that filled him. He looked round and knew Eragon was feeling very similar.

The darkness deepened and, a mile ahead, a cluster of lights spread throughout the height of the tress winked into existence. They were like fairies, or will-o-the-wisps, floating with an eerie grandeur in the silver glow from the moon.

"There lies Sílthrim." Said Lifaen.

A faint splash and a murmur of "Kvetha Fricai" signalled the passing of another boat in the dark. Arya pulled their canoe alongside Eragon's. "We will stop here tonight."

They camped a good walk away from the lake, where the ground was dry and firm. Droves of mosquitoes drove Arya to cast a protective spell so they could eat in peace. Afterwards, the seven of them sat and watched the fire as it glowed orange, red and gold. Imrik was reminded of Gwihir's gouts of flame and the ache in his chest grew. He was about to go to sleep when a voice, haunting and beautiful, drifted through the trees. Imrik straightened with Eragon, trying to catch more of the melody. Lutheni looked up. There was magic in the voice, of that he was sure.

Like a fire in woodland, the song grew in power, the whole forest swaying and twisting to a rhythm that rose and fell like waves on a choppy sea. The air vibrated with power as more voices joined the song. Imrik felt shivers of elation and fear in equal measure steal through his body. He knew the magic of the song was effecting him, he just wasn't sure how yet. Eragon jumped up, looking ready to run off into the woods. Imrik held himself still, trying to resist the seductive charms of the notes. Lutheni was resisting as well, her arms down by her sides with her knuckles white on the handles of her axe. Arya rushed Eragon, grabbing him by the arm.

"Eragon! Clear your mind!" the boy struggled, but her grip was like iron. "Eyddr eyreya onr!" Empty your ears! Imrik's ears popped as Arya's spell came into effect. All sound had gone from the world. He stopped resisting the song because it was not longer there. Lutheni breathed out heavily and sank to her knees. Eragon ceased his struggles and looked around. On the other side of the fire, Orik struggled against Lifaen and Narí in silence.

Arya spoke again, Imrik guessed another spell, and sound returned with another pop. The song had ceased, or Arya had prevented it from being heard. "What...?" asked Eragon.

"Gerr'off me," growled Orik from the floor. Lifaen and Narí lifted their hands and backed away.

"Your pardon, Orik-vodhr." Said Lifaen.

Arya looked out in the direction of Sílthrim. "I miscounted the days; I didn't want to be anywhere near a city during Dagshelgr. Our saturnalias, our celebrations, are perilous for mortals. We sing in the ancient language and the lyrics weave spells of passion that are difficult to resist, even for us."

Narí stirred restlessly. "We should be at a grove."

"We should," agreed Arya, "but we will do our duty and wait."

Eragon looked shaken as he moved closer to the fire. Lutheni remained kneeling, breathing in and out slowly. Imrik sat down next to Eragon after casting a concerned look at Lutheni. He too was feeling a little out of sorts. He wondered how Gwihir and Saphira were doing, with only themselves to keep them from the magic's effects.

"What is the point of Dagshelgr?" asked Eragon.

Arya sat down between them, crossing her legs. "It is to keep the forest healthy and fertile. Every spring we sing for the trees, we sing for the plants and we sing for the animals. Without us, Du Weldenvarden would be half its size." As if in reaction to her words, animals of all different types, squirrels, badgers, deer, wolves, foxes and others all swarmed out of the woods, making a cacophony of noises as each one raised its voice in salutation to the song. "They are searching for mates," explained Arya. "All across Du Weldenvarden, in each of our cities, elves are singing this song. The more who participate, the stronger the spell and the greater Du Weldenvarden will be this year."

Eragon began to hug himself. He looked like he was experiencing something from a dream world. Lutheni hauled herself over to the fire and sat looking into it, her legs crossed, as her hands wandered over her axe. Her face was expressionless. Imrik was rather stunned himself; a spell of this size and power was something he didn't think he would experience in his life time, unless he had somehow made his way to the Vortex before dying.

Orik came around the fire to talk. The dwarf had to practically shout for them to hear him. "By my beard and my axe, I'll not be controlled against my will by magic. If it happens again, Arya, I swear on Helzvog's stone girdle that I'll return to Farthen Dûr and you will have the wrath of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum to deal with."

"It was not my intention for you to experience Dagshelgr," said Arya sincerely, "I apologise for my mistake. However, though I am shielding you from this spell, you cannot escape magic in Du Weldenvarden; it permeates everything."

Orik seemed disgruntled. "So long as it doesn't befoul my mind." He shook his head and fingered his axe while eying the animals that moved out of sight in the darkness. The activity kept them awake the whole night, either the noise of the animals or the sound of the song. Lifaen and Narí began pacing in circles while Arya stared towards Sílthrim, her expression that of a starving woman.

Four hours into the revelry, Gwihir and Saphira spiralled out of the sky, twisting around each other in strange manoeuvres that resembled a dance; if dancing involved snapping, slashing and growling at each other. They landed with a crash that shook the trees all around, rolling apart as Imrik and Eragon scrambled to their feet, dashing in-between the two dragons.

"_Imrik, the song, the forest. It's alive! So alive and so am I! My blood seethes with power, I feel... strong, like I could fight side by side with the Star Dragons! And I know the feeling that burns within me, the feeling I've had for Saphira since we first met. It is the same one that burns within you when you think of that day on the hill!"_ Imrik put a hand on the quivering dragon, and Eragon did the same with Saphira. Gwihir's claws dug deep furrows in the mossy ground and his wings flared and furrowed. His pupils were dilated, but never moved from Saphira's.

Arya walked up and placed a hand on each of the dragons' snouts. Together, they stood still in the night, united by the tenuous link of physical contact.

The new dawn brought peace to Imrik. He had stood vigilant the whole night, watching over the others as they had slept. Exhaustion had claimed Eragon, Lutheni and the dragons. Orik had fallen asleep shortly after. Narí, Lifaen and Arya had stayed awake with him, until the song had ended, then they too had retired.

Imrik, however, had found no rest. What Gwihir had said had made him think. The magic of the elves had made Gwihir lust after Saphira, but also realise his love for her was true. And then he had compared the feeling to Imrik's own. Imrik had tried to avoid thinking of that day, for it only brought up confused feelings. Also, if those feelings were what Imrik thought they were, they would only bring pain and confusion for Arya. That was not what he wanted, so he had suppressed them. But now, with the music of life ringing in his ears, he wondered if it was the right choice. He had been pondering it the whole night, yet he had still found no answer. He decided to leave it for another day as the elves began to stir.

Looking around, Imrik saw new life blooming everywhere. Flowers had sprung up around his feet and every tree had fresh buds. The riot of colour dazzled his eyes, various hues of reds, blues, yellows and greens. The air smelled fresh and clean, like a day in the mountain after a rainstorm.

Gwihir stood on shaking knees and a shiver ran the length of the green dragon. Imrik patted his flank. "_Are you alright, my friend?_" Imrik asked.

"_The feeling has passed; the fire in my blood has dampened. I felt... so strange, Imrik. I have not felt this way in all my years of life, not even when I hatched or in my waking dreams during my slumber under the mountains. It felt as though the world was being re-forged, time re-written and I was helping do it._"

"_How are you inside, your emotions must be strained._"

"_I... I will recover. I just need time._"

"_I think you may owe Saphira an apology though_." Imrik commented with a slight smirk on his lips. Gwihir made a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. Saphira looked over at the noise and made eye contact with Gwihir. Some understanding past between them and Imrik felt Gwihir's roiling emotions still slightly.

Since the spell had ended, Arya removed the blocking ward from Imrik, Eragon, Lutheni and Orik. She turned to Lifaen and Narí and said, "Lifaen. Narí. Go to Sílthrim and get horses for the seven of us. We cannot walk all the way from here to Ellesméra. Also, alert Captain Damítha that Ceris requires reinforcements."

Narí bowed. "And what shall we say when she asks why we have deserted our post?"

"Tell her that which she once hoped for – and feared – has occurred; the wyrm has bitten its own tail. She will understand."

Imrik watched the two elves depart for Sílthrim, then settled down to wait. After three hours, Imrik turned to see them riding back on fine white stallions, leading six identical horses. They moved like a mirage, shimmering in the earlier morning light. None of them bore any tack.

"Blöthr, Blöthr," murmured Lifaen and the horse halted. It pawed at the ground, eager to set off again.

"These are fine steeds, reminiscent of those on Ulthaun. Our steeds are taller, but then we don't need to manoeuvre through forest terrain often. **Greetings, fair one**." Said Imrik, the last part directed at the horse in front of him. He inclined his head and the horse did likewise. Imrik ran his hands over the horses muzzle and neck, then vaulted up onto his back.

"Are all your horses as noble as these?" asked Eragon as he approached. He seemed cautious as he approached.

"Not all," laughed Narí. He flicked his silver hair out of his eyes."But most. We have bred them for many centuries."

"How am I supposed to ride?"

Arya answered him. "Our horses respond instantly to commands in the ancient language; tell it where you wish to go and it will take you. However, do not mistreat them with blows or harsh words, for they are not our slaves but our friends and partners. They bear you only so long as the consent to; it is a great privilege to ride one. I was only able to save Saphira's egg from Durza because our horses sensed that something was amiss and stopped us from ridding into his ambush ... They won't let you fall unless you deliberately throw yourself off and they are skilled in choosing the safest, quickest path through treacherous ground. The dwarves' Feldûnost are like that."

"Right you are," Orik commented, "A Feldûnost can run you up a cliff and down without a single bruise. But how can we carry food and whatnot without saddles? I won't ride while wearing a full pack."

"Nor will you have to." Said Lifaen, tossing a pile of leather bags at Orik's feet and indicating the eighth horse.

Half an hour later and they had arranged the packs into a lumpy mound of the horse's back. Narí had taught them the command words and lead them to their horses. Imrik's was called Felaróf. Imrik talked to him in a mixture of high elves and the ancient language, finding that the horse had no preference to which he used, it understood both perfectly. Grinning at Lutheni, Imrik asked Felaróf to walk forward to Gwihir's side. When he reached the dragon, he smiled ruefully.

"_I will see you soon, old friend. Try not to let your passions run to wild, won't you?_" he said to the dragon, scratching the hard scales under his chin. Gwihir gave a soft purr.

"_You too. Keep out of trouble._" Was the reply. Imrik grinned. Slowly, they began to pull away, leaving the two dragons to hunker down and wait for nightfall.

**A/N: ****Again, ever so sorry, it just took me forever to get the guts and the passion to rewrite this chapter, I hope you like it and if you do, tell me in your reviews. I will begin working on the next chapter tomorrow (24/10/2012 or for the American readers, 10/24/2012) and hopefully have it up by the end of the week. See you all later, Caledor Out!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**A/N:**** Right, glad you liked the previous chapter. I'll be getting on to the Pinewood City, Queen Islanzadí, Out of the Past and On the Crags of Tel'nae****í****r hopefully in this chapter. Imrik will not be in his comfort zone all the time this chapter and we may have some points from Lutheni's view. Thank you so much to my reviewers for sticking with this story. I was amazed at the amount of response I got within hours. **

**High Elves = Bold Script.**

**Disclaimer: I owe nothing but Imrik and Lutheni. **

Imrik knew he had spent too long in the forest when he had begun to long for the open spaces of the plains. At least there had been mountains and the changing landscape to occupy his mind. Here, only trees dominated. Even his flights with Gwihir could not relieve the feeling, for all he could see was a mass of green stretching unbroken for miles around. The boredom leads to thinking, thinking of thoughts that should be left alone.

Gwihir had the same problem, all that occupied the dragon's mind were thoughts of Saphira and what could have happened that night on Dagshelgr. From what Imrik had gathered, Saphira had been thinking similar thoughts. Only now did it occur to him that, until Gwihir had entered her life, the prospects of Saphira finding a mate were slim indeed. She was the last dragon in the whole world, the survival of her race rested on her shoulders. Gwihir was, so far, the only option if she was to keep the dragons, and by extension the Riders, alive. What emotions must be boiling away inside of her, Imrik could not guess. He could not imagine being the last High Elf. It was simply not possible.

When he entered such contemplations, Imrik hardly noticed the rainstorms or the rise of the sun in the morning and the darkness of night. He would brood as he rode, not really paying the world around him any head. If anyone spoke to him during these moods, they would either receive a few words in response, or just plain silence. He didn't even notice that the trees had begun to grow in size and girth. He only knew they were approaching Ellesméra when Eragon told him that they would not be flying today. Gwihir took in much the same way as Imrik, with a muffled grunt.

In late afternoon, however, something jolted Imrik back into the real world. Arya came to him and told him that they would be meeting with the queen in a few hours. Imrik knew now that they had reached the boundaries of Ellesméra. He looked down at himself and felt his pride flare up.

"May I be excused for a moment? I must change." He asked Arya. She gave him a quizzical look while Lutheni snorted. Arya turned to her.

"What he means to say is he won't come before your queen looking like a traveller." She said with a sting to her voice. Arya turned to Imrik and shook her head.

"Fine, go. But be quick." She said.

Imrik grinned, grabbed the saddle bags he needed and raced off into a nearby bush. A little while later and he emerged wearing the gear he had worn to Ajihad's funeral, crown on his head, and sword at his hip. He wanted to make an impression. Arya shook her head once more while Lifaen and Narí stared at him garments with something like awe. He let the light of the Asur shine forth on his skin for the first time in weeks, savouring the feeling of completeness. Lutheni mirrored him, for she too had not spent a day being truly whole since she had arrived in Alagaësia.

About twenty minutes later, Imrik was glad he had changed when he had. The gloom of the forest had lifted and in a shaft of brilliant sunlight, stood an elf. He wore flowing robes and a circlet of silver on his brow. His face was noble and graceful, yet held the look of supreme age.

"Eragon, Imrik, show him your palms. Eragon, show your ring also." Murmured Arya.

Imrik drew off his gloves and lifted his left hand in salute. Eragon did the same but with his ring, showing off the ring that glittered on his finger. The old elf smiled, closed his eyes and spread his hands in a gesture of welcome. Imrik was slightly in awe of the figure. He was sure this must be similar to meeting Caledor Dragontamer, the ancient mage and Imrik's ancestor. The elf gave off an aura of indomitable strength and the wisdom of ages.

"The way is clear." Said Arya. Softly, she asked her steed to carry her forward. They rode around the elf, parting like water around a rock. When they had all past, he straightened, clasped his hands, and vanished with the light that illuminated him.

"Who was he?" asked Imrik, still slightly in awe. Lutheni had a similar expression on her face to how he felt inside.

"He is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vándil, and guardian of Ellesméra since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka, our war with the dragons. None may enter the city unless he permits it." Arya answered.

"We have passed the first test." Imrik said quietly.

A quarter of a mile further, Imrik noticed that the forest was thinning. They past under an arch formed of two trees, and Imrik stopped dead. The ground in the clearing was covered in flowers, pink roses, bluebells, lilies and others that Imrik couldn't name. A stream gurgled to the right. Insects buzzed and hummed all around and a pair of squirrels chased each other around a rock.

What had stopped Imrik, however, was something much more spectacular than all that. It was the trees. They had been grown into the shape of houses. One had been grown to make a two story house, larger at the bottom than at the top, creating a tired appearance. The tree was still a living organism, but there was defiantly living space inside it. Moss and lichen decorated the walls and roofs. The door was set back into the main trunk, under an arch carved with runes.

Another building was made out of three trees of different sizes. A spiral stairway led up to the first set of buildings, which were set at right angles to one another. They spread outwards from the trunk, supported by curved limbs. The roofs of the buildings were slanted, so if you looked at them head on, they looked like a slightly bent triangle. A straight stair enclosed within a hall of branches lead up to the second level on the second tree. The buildings were a larger replica of the first. From this, two curved stairways lead to the third building. Imrik half expected to be lead towards the building, such was the grandeur of the third hall. It had a balcony open to the sky and three large towers on each of the other buildings spreading out from the trunk. When Imrik asked its function, he discovered it was the home of one of the most powerful families in the whole of Ellesméra. He was not surprised.

Gradually, the elves of Ellesméra emerged. Imrik caught glimpses of them. A leg enclosed in rustic leggings, a pale arm raised in salutation, a face in the shadows of a doorway. One by one, the inhabitants warily revealed themselves and came forward, their eyes fixed on Arya, the Riders and their dragons.

The women, much as Imrik had expected, wore their hair unbound. It cascaded down their back, in ripples of velvet or starlight, fresh blooms braided within. They possessed much of the beauty of his own race, and made his heart ache for the cities in Ulthuan. The men were similarly built, with narrows shoulders and delicate features. They were all garbed in rustic tunics the colours of the forest, from greens and browns to golds and oranges. Imrik touched his lips in greeting, as did Eragon. For once, the two Riders were in synch with each other.

The elves bowed as one. Then, like a chorus of song birds, they broke into joyous laughter. From within the crowd, a woman sang.

"Gala O Wyrda brunhvitr,

Abr Berundal vandr-fódhr,

Burthro laufsblädar ekar undir,

Eom kona dauthleikr..."

Imrik listened wonder, for the voice was beautiful. Eragon clapped his hands over his ears, fearing another spell, but Imrik pulled his hands down.

"There is no magic in her voice, save its beauty." He said to the boy with a smile. He dismounted and gestured for Eragon to do the same. Arya had already done so and turned to her horse.

"Gánga." The stallion nickered and trotted off, seeming to know exactly where it was going. "Release your steeds as well," Arya said. "We will have no further need of them and they deserve to rest in our stables."

The song grew in power and voice as Arya lead them along a cobbled path that wound its way around holly bushes and past houses before crossing the stream. The elves danced around them, like a flock of humming birds, flitting between dances as the fancy took them. The leapt up above them to run over their heads and praised the dragons with names like "Longclaws" and "Brightscales" and "Mighty One." They stared at Imrik and Lutheni openly, and Imrik saw intrigue war with anger as they looked on Lutheni's cloak. To her credit, Lutheni pretended not to notice, striding ahead purposefully.

"How is that done?" asked Eragon, pointing to one of the tree dwellings.

"We sing to the forest in the old tongue and give it our strength to grow in the shape that we desire. All our buildings and tools are made in that manner." Answered Arya.

The path ended in steps formed of layers of roots. The door above them was embedded in a wall of saplings. Climbing to it, Imrik felt his heart beat faster. The door swung open, as if of its own accord, to reveal a hall made of trees. Hundreds upon hundreds of branches melded together to form a vaulted ceiling. Below, twelve chairs lined each wall. In them sat twenty four elf lords and ladies.

They would not be out of place in the courts of Ulthaun, Imrik thought as he surveyed them. Wise and handsome, with smooth faces and keen eyes. They all leaned forward, open hope and wonder displayed on their faces as Imrik's group approached. Unlike the elves outside, they had swords belted on their waists. Their hilts were studded with gems. On the heads of each lord or lady, a circlet of metal and jewels rested.

At the head of the hall, in a white pavilion, was sheltered a knotted throne made of roots. Queen Islanzadí, for it could be no other, sat upon it. She was beautiful, more beautiful than most women that Imrik had seen, like the sun setting over the mountains in spring. Her face was proud and regal, her eyebrows slanted like the wings of a bird in flight, her lips as red as the fire-roses that grew on the slopes of the Dragon Spines and her hair, the colour of the void of night, was bound in a diadem of diamond. Her tunic was crimson. A girdle of braided gold adorned her hips and a velvet cloak was clasped at the hollow of her neck, spilling its folds to the ground like a waterfall of midnight. Despite all this, Imrik sensed fragility in the queen, and spotted the marks of a mourner in her fair face.

By her left hand was a curved rod with a chased crosspiece. A raven the colour of snow was perched upon it, shifting from one foot to the other. It cocked its head and surveyed the group, zoning in on Eragon and Imrik. It opened its beak and gave a long, deep croak, then shrieked, "Wryda!" Imrik stiffened at the force of that word.

The door swung shut behind them as they approached the queen. Arya knelt on the floor of moss and bowed first, then Eragon, Orik, Lutheni, Lifaen and Narí. Imrik waited a bit, looked the queen dead in the eyes, then lowered his head to a respectful level. Saphira and Gwihir did the same.

Islanzadí descended from her throne, her cloak trailing after her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders and said in a rich, musical voice that sounded awfully familiar to Imrik, "Rise." Arya did, and the queen scrutinized her face with increasing intensity, until it seemed like she had been presented with an enigma that she couldn't solve.

At last Islanzadí cried out and embraced Arya, confirming Imrik's suspicions. "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

Imrik smirked with a bowed head; he had thought Arya was of high noble birth. He had started suspecting she was the daughter of the queen when Narí and Lifaen had reacted so suddenly to Eragon's question about Islanzadí. This had been confirmed the moment he had seen the queen. She looked like an older replica of Arya.

"Islanzadí Dröttning." Said Arya with a formal voice.

The queen recoiled as if she had been stung. She repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face with her hands. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made... Can you forgive me?"

Imrik was silently stunned. Arya's own mother had banned her from her presence. Imrik didn't know for how long, but it must have been a long time, even for an elf, considering the way Arya had greeted the queen.

Arya was silent for a long time, but she did reply. "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí grew herself up and lifted her chin. She shivered once. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I have endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí enfolded Arya's hands inside her own. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a moment, Imrik wondered if Arya would remain silent, or worse, reject the offer. Imrik caught the looks that she swept over the audience. She hesitated, then lowered her eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave." Islanzadí smiled with an element of uncertainty and embraced Arya again. Arya embraced her as well and smiled broke out among the assembled lords and ladies.

The white raven hopped about on his stand and cackled, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became family lore, Let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," Islanzadí said, waving the comment away. "Keep your doggerel to yourself." Islanzadí broke the embrace and turned to face Eragon and Saphira, who were more central and in front of Gwihir and Imrik. "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum. "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Islanzadí's eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," finished Eragon. Imrik knew that the elves were caught off guard by Eragon's knowledge of their culture. A small silence formed, by which Imrik guessed that Saphira was greeting the queen.

"Dragon, what is your name?" asked Islanzadí. A second later and a flash of recognition flitted across the queen's face. "Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And you, Rider?"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." The walls rippled with noise as the elves stirred. The queen appeared startled.

"You carry a powerful name," she said softly, "one we rarely bestow upon our children ... welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you."

She moved to Imrik and a flash of surprise showed in her dark eyes as she surveyed him. Imrik repeated the greeting in the same way as Eragon, Gwihir repeating it after him.

"Dragon, what is your name? Are you one of the other eggs from Galbatorix's treasure vault?"

"_My name is Gwihir and no, I am not one of the traitor's prizes._"

"Welcome then, Gwihir. But I must ask, from where do you come?"

"_My Rider will answer you that more eloquently than I_."

Islanzadí turned to Imrik, confusion etched in her face. "What is your name Rider, and where do you come from?"

"I am Prince Imrik Gwindorian, Your Grace. Gwihir and I are from the land of Caledor, in Ulthaun. I am one of the Asur, an elf from another world." Imrik added the last part in the ancient language so that the assembled elves would believe him. An audible gasp when up from them and Islanzadí stood back a step. Imrik continued, "I would offer you the royal greetings of my king, Finubar, but I doubt that I can speak for him here. Instead, I will offer you the friendship of my family and the aid of Caledor in your hour of need."

Islanzadí recovered her composure and smiled. "I thank you for your offer, Prince Imrik, and return it. Having a visitor from another world, this is something unheard of. You and Eragon both herald great change for our people. I would very much like to hear your story."

"I also thank you for your offer and accept it whole heartedly. As for the story, I will let Eragon tell his tale. When it is time, I will tell the tale from my stance." Imrik replied with a small bow of his head.

Islanzadí moved on from Imrik, greeted Orik and moved to Lutheni. She swept her eyes over the hunter, then touched two fingers to her lips. Lutheni mirrored her. The queen spoke first, with Lutheni returning the second line and the queen completing the third. Then the queen asked, "Who may you be? Are you of Imrik's people, the Asur?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I am Lutheni Tellatén, of the White Lions of Chrace. We are the guards of the Phoenix King."

"I assume you take your name from the cloak you bear?" the queen asked, her tone carefully measured.

"Yes, the lions of Chrace are fearsome and noble opponents. We contest with them constantly to maintain our villages and cities in Chrace, for if we did not control their numbers, they would destroy us. The cloaks are a rite of passage and an honour to the dead lions, for they are fine foes who deserve recognition." Lutheni replied with passion in her voice. Islanzadí looked at her with hard eyes, then nodded her head in acceptance. The queen turned and swept back to her throne. She swept her cloak over one arm as she sat.

"I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear your tale, Imrik and Lutheni and your intensions. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

Eragon had very little difficulty telling his story and where he forgot things, Saphira would pick up the thread and give an accurate picture of events. For certain periods, Eragon let Saphira tell the tale on her own. When Imrik's own turn came, he recounted the battle in Caledor and the event which had sent him and Gwihir spiralling into Alagaësia. The elvish nobles looked at each other worriedly when Imrik described the Greater Daemon and its powers. After that, his story was much the same as Eragon's. Lutheni's was even shorter than Imrik's, starting a few days before they had picked her up. She described the Druchii in detail, giving a rough outline of what they were. At the end of this, Eragon fished around inside his jerkin and pulled out the scroll Nasuada had given him in Tronjheim. He presented it to Islanzadí.

She took the scroll and broke the wax seal. She read through the missive, sighed and closed her eyes. She opened her eyes and spoke, "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should never have blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish..."

A silence stretched in the throne room, no one daring to agree or disagree with the statement. At last, Eragon spoke out, "Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," said the queen. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned towards them on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Eragon pulled the ring off of his finger and handed it to the queen. She took it and inspected it. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, for it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped. And you, Prince Imrik, for the services you have given the Varden and the friendship you have offered my people, I name you Elf Friend and present to you with this ring, Valyna." She plunked a ring of one of her delicate fingers, kissed it, and held it out to Imrik. He smiled, knelt and took the ring. Rising, he slipped it onto his ring index finger.

Imrik thanked Islanzadí and stepped back, aware of her gaze on Eragon. She then switched her gaze to Imrik. Her eyes were analytical and perceiving, as if she were trying to guess Imrik's next move. She studied him for a minute longer then said, "Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustomed to a slower way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia and it troubles me that so much could occur so swiftly without word of its reaching my ear."

"And what of my training?" Eragon asked, shooting a glance around the room. Imrik wondered why but said nothing of it. Now was not the time.

"It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instructing you is futile so long as your infirmary persists. Unless you can overcome the Shade's magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nurtured for over a century." Imrik felt guilt rise in him again. It was his fault. The magic of Asuryan had not healed Eragon completely. Imrik tried to remember the moment he had called out to Asuryan, but it was hazy. He could not even remember the words his lord had spoken to him. This agitated him greatly, for it could contain an answer to why Eragon had to suffer so. Islanzadí continued. "Your situation is not your fault and it pains me to voice such things but you must understand the gravity of your disability ... I am sorry."

The queen then addressed Orik, "It has been long since one of your race entered our halls, dwarf. Eragon-finiarel and Imrik-finiarel have explained your presence, but do you have ought else to add?"

"Only royal greetings from my king, Hrothgar, and a plea, now unneeded, for you to resume contact with the Varden. Beyond that, I am here to see that the pact that Brom forged between you and the humans is honoured."

"We keep our promises whether we utter them in this language or the ancient language. I accept Hrothgar's greetings and return them in kind." She then turned to Arya, as Imrik suspected she had been longing to do, and asked, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"

Arya told her tale in a dull monotone, speaking of her capture and imprisonment as if they were a boring book. Eragon and Saphira had skimmed over Arya's injuries, but she described them in detail. Imrik felt his rage building. Arya had never told him about her torture and the things that Durza and his men had done to her made him feel like flying out to the city of Gil'ead and laying waste to it with fire and sword. Gwihir's own feelings had melded with Imrik's own and a low growl escaped the lips of both dragon and Rider, a menacing sound that promised destruction and death. The other elves remained silent throughout Arya's tale, yet their faces hardened with anger and they gripped their sword hilts with white-knuckled hands. Islanzadí shed a single tear.

When she had finished, an elf lord stood and paced between the two rows of chairs. "I know I speak for all of us, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology, mitigation or reparation and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also, we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long."

"Thank you, Däthedr-vor."

"Enough." Cried Islanzadí, her voice like that of a clear trumpet call. "Our guests wait tired on their feet and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries." She smiled brightly and Imrik got an impression of what Arya would look like if she grinned. "My daughter has returned, a dragon and her Rider have appeared, an elf and his dragon have arrived from another world to help us and I will see us celebrate in the proper fashion!" She stood, looking every inch an elven queen, and clapped her hands. Suddenly, the chairs and the pavilion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses, which had appeared above their heads and fell upon them like a dusting of coloured snow. The perfume of the flowers warmed the air.

"_She didn't use the ancient language._" Commented Gwihir to Imrik. He nodded with slight wonder. While the flowers fell and everyone was distracted, Imrik noticed that Islanzadí touched Arya on the shoulder and whispered, "You never would have suffered so if you had taken my council. I was right to oppose your decision to accept the yawë."

"It was my decision to make." Arya responded.

The queen hesitated, then nodded and raised her arm. "Blagden." A flutter of wings and the white raven had flown to her left shoulder. All of them bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall. All except Imrik, who bowed his head, but no more. The queen threw open the door to the hundreds of elves outside and made a swift speech in the ancient language. The elves burst into cheers and laughter and began rushing about.

"What did she say?" Eragon asked Narí.

The elf smiled and said, "To break open our finest casks and light the cook fires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song. Come!" He grabbed Imrik and Eragon by the hand and lead them after the queen as she past between the tall, bearded pines and the seas of ferns. The sun had almost set while they had been indoors, and the time of the Phoenix was upon them, drenching the forest in a hue of red and gold.

They stopped at the top of a small hill, where a long table had been laid out with chairs. The forest came alive with activity; elves all over Ellesméra appeared to be getting into the festive mood. As evening drew closer, fires sprung up through the trees all around them, including a bonfire next to the table.

An elf handed Eragon and Imrik a goblet of wood, sung from the trees as Arya had said. Imrik sniffed the contents and recoiled slightly. He took a cautious sip and gasped slightly as the liquor set his throat afire. It made his senses come alive and he felt a slight tingling in his fingers. Imrik grinned, he liked this drink... he wanted another. Eragon had a similar reaction.

"What is this drink?" asked Imrik.

"Faelnirv?" Narí asked with a laugh. "We distil it from crushed elderberries and spun moonbeams. If he needs must, a strong man can travel for three days on naught else."

"_Would you like to try some, Gwihir?_" Imrik asked, holding the goblet out for the dragon's inspection. He sniffed it, then opened his mouth. Imrik poured the contents down his throat. Gwihir arched his neck as if he was about to let loose a jet of fire, then blew a hot draft of air down on Imrik. He swished his tail and looked at the empty goblet.

"_That is a proper drink, is there any more?_" he asked with an eager voice.

Before Imrik had a chance to ask Narí, Orik stomped over, grumbling into his beard. "Daughter to the queen. I wish that I could tell Hrothgar and Nasuada. They'd want to know."

Islanzadí seated herself at the end of the table in a tall chair and clapped once. A quartet of elves appeared from the city. Two bore harps made of cherry wood, one had a set of reed pipes and the last only her voice. She began to sing immediately, and Imrik recognised her voice as the woman who had sung earlier. Imrik understood very little of the song, but what he could make out made him smile. It was the story of a stag who couldn't drink at a pool because a magpie kept attacking him.

Imrik gazed around as he listened, caught Eragon's eye and grinned at him. Eragon grinned back then began to let his eyes roam. Imrik did the same, taking in the surreal experience. Here he was, in another world, feasting with elves of a totally different race, and he was enjoying himself. He chuckled a bit at the thought, then began to scan the crowd again. He focused in on a small child-like being behind Islanzadí. Her hair was the colour of milk, the colour drained from it by age. Her face had suffered similarly, lines like mountain crevices marked her cheeks. She was grinning in Eragon's direction and her teeth were pointed. Imrik knew he was not looking at either elf, human or dwarf. She was something else entirely.

When the music had finished, Imrik and Eragon were approached by droves of elves who wished to greet them and – more importantly, Imrik sensed to his slight annoyance – Gwihir and Saphira. Imrik let it pass, for he knew that the elves cared more for the dragons than their Riders.

They presented themselves with polite dignity, bowing softly and touching their first and middle fingers to their lips, which Imrik mirrored, then repetition after repetition of the greetings in the ancient language. The elves asked Imrik many questions about his homeland and his customs, but held many more for Gwihir.

Imrik amused himself while Gwihir was talking by picking out elves at random and trying to work out their profession and social status. It was challenging and kept him occupied until the food was brought forth. Imrik was surprised by the variety on display, breads and seedcakes, fruit and vegetables. Berries were the centrepiece by far, just like the dwarven mushrooms. No meat, as Imrik had expected, was to be found on the table.

The elves rushed the table with surprising gusto, seating themselves quickly. Soon everyone was seated: Islanzadí at the head of the table with Blagden; Däthedr to her left, Arya and Eragon to her right. Imrik and Lutheni sat next to Däthedr with Orik across from Lutheni, next to Eragon. Narí, Lifaen and all the other elves were seated down the table. At the end, two large carved plates had been brought for the dragons to lie on.

The meal drew on and Imrik became very merry. He talked at length with Däthedr and Lutheni, occasionally talking to Eragon, Arya or Orik as well. He felt truly happy for the first time in a long time. He laughed and smiled, ate and drank with a vigour that surprised him. He thought that he could forget about the losses and suffering he had endured for a moment during the feast, but as he swept his head around, he caught sight of something that made his blood chill.

An elf, with remarkable similarities to his elder brother, was standing, looking at him. Imrik's eyes widened and his throat constricted. The elf passed his gaze over Imrik and was swept away towards the dragons, but the damage was done. Imrik's thoughts would not stray from his brother's death. The Bloodthirster taking his brother, the smile it gave him as it disappeared... it would not leave him alone.

Imrik jolted back to the real world with Lutheni shaking his shoulder. He gave her a weak smile and turned back to his food, his mind still locked in the past. His mood had slipped and he found himself finding the food tasteless, the talk irritating and the laughter tiresome. He was almost pleased when Islanzadí stood at the end of the meal. Everyone else stood in a flurry of movement. Imrik was slower than he would have been normally, but not so slow as to cause offence.

"It is late, I am tired and I would return to my bower. Accompany me, Gwihir and Saphira. And you, Imrik and Eragon and I will show you where you may sleep tonight." Said Islanzadí. She motioned to Arya with one hand, then left the table. Arya followed.

Imrik gave Lutheni a shrug when she gave him an indignant look, then moved to follow Arya with Gwihir. Eragon moved around the table with Saphira, but stopped when he saw the un-child.

"You're a werecat, aren't you?" asked Eragon. She blinked once, then bared her teeth in a smile that was both happy and dangerous. "I met one of your kin, Solembum, in Teirm and in Farthen Dûr."

The werecat's grin widened. "Aye, a good one he is. Humans bore me, but he finds it amusing to travel with the witch Angela." She switched her gaze to Imrik, then to the two dragons. She made a noise that has half way between a purr and a growl.

"Names be powerful things in the heart of Du Weldenvarden, dragon, yes they are. However... among the elves, I am known as The Watcher and as Quickpaw and as The Dream Dancer, but you can call me Maud." She tossed her hair. "You had better catch up with the queen, younglings; she does not take lightly to fools or laggards."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Maud." Said Eragon. Imrik nodded, for his own thoughts still in a muddle. Eragon bowed and Imrik dipped his head, as did the dragons. Eragon glanced around at Orik and Lutheni, then ran after the queen, Imrik right next to him.

They overtook her just as she reached the base of a large tree. A staircase spiralled up the trunk, its ridged arches creating a ceiling to walk under. The stair led up to a series of globe-like rooms in the tree's crown.

Islanzadí pointed up to them and said, "You needs must fly up there, Saphira. Our stairs are not grown with dragons in mind." She turned and spoke to Eragon. "This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesméra. I give it to you now, as you are the rightful heir to that title ... It is your inheritance. Imrik, Gwihir, if you would follow me, we have set aside another home for you." Islanzadi didn't wait for response from either dragons or Riders and swept off with Arya. Imrik nodded to Eragon.

"Goodnight, sleep well." He said before turning to leave.

"You too." Was the faint reply.

They followed the queen and Arya deeper into the city, until they arrived at a house similar to the one they had left Eragon at. It was about the same size as Eragon's, though built in a different fashion. It was squarer looking, like the grand house near the borders of Ellesméra. It had a cross-shaped main structure, the arms of the tree holding it in a hand-like grasp. It had arched windows with balconies on the sides Imrik could see. He assumed they carried on around to the other sides. Out of the middle of the structure, a tower spiralled.

"Gwihir, there is an entrance on the far right side. You must fly up to enter. Imrik, the house once belonged to one of the many Riders killed in Galbatorix's war. Tread with care." Said the queen, before departing. Arya lingered with him.

"You are close to our home. If you need to see me about something, fly west and you will find me. Goodnight Imrik, we will come for you in the morning."

"Goodnight Arya." He said as she walked away. He turned and started the long ascent into the house. The stairway spiralled like that of Eragon's house. The steps were steep and Imrik was feeling a little uncomfortable by the time he reached the door. It was arched like the windows. He pushed it open and climbed the stairs leading into the main room.

The room was wide and spacious, taking up most of the centre space in the house. To his right was a large bed grown out of the wall. Next to it was a depression in the floor, covered in pillows and blankets. A semi-circular gap wide enough for a dragon much bigger than Gwihir rose from the floor to the top of the wall. Imrik walked over to the bed as Gwihir landed on the balcony outside and walked into the room. He spotted the depression and lay down on it, deeming it comfortable. Imrik smiled and proceeded to explore.

He found a strange cupboard around the corner from the bed. It had a depression in the middle. Imrik walked around it, trying to discern its purpose. He ran his hands over the walls, finding a small panel concealed in the wood. He pulled it and found two nozzles imbedded above the depression. Intrigued, he turned them and was bathed in cold water.

"Gaah!" he cried as he jumped back out of the freezing stream of liquid. Gwihir looked into the source of his discomfort and chuckled. Imrik ignored him and edged around the water. He turned the nozzle back and the water stopped. He looked at the other nozzle, then turned it slightly. Hot water began to trickle out. Imrik looked at the two nozzles after turning off the hot one, trying to figure out what they were for. Slowly, it dawned on him this might be a way to bathe in warm water. He grinned, knowing this must be the only purpose of the strange contraption. He resolved to bathe after exploring the rest of the house.

He stepped out of the bathing room and took off his wet cloak, hanging it upon the door to dry. His leggings were also wet, but he couldn't do much about that for now. Looking straight forward, Imrik could see the trap door through which he had emerged. He also noticed the spiral staircase in the middle of the room. How he had missed it to begin with, he did not know. Looking to the only part of the room he had yet to explore, he saw that a wall had sealed off the section of the house. This was unusual, as the rest of the house was quite open. The cross structure of the house allowed you to see the opposite section perfectly. There must be something more private than sleeping in the walled-off area. Finding the door, Imrik pushed it open and stepped inside.

Inside, Imrik found a desk covered in scrolls with a high-backed chair pulled up to it. The walls were covered in small niches for scrolls and books. In the corner, a fireplace, like the one in the bedroom, was set. There was also a small bunk for sleeping in. Imrik looked out of the window and towards the eastern sky. It was a fantastic view. He could see for miles around, the houses of the elves cropping up through the tree tops. He caught sight of many of the elves themselves, singing from branches of laughing and playing instruments. Imrik smiled. He turned and left the study, closing the door after him.

Climbing the spiral staircase to the tower, Imrik felt Gwihir's annoyance intrude into his mind.

"_Must you scramble around like a squirrel all night?_" the dragon asked indignantly.

"_I will be down soon; I just want to know what is up here._" Imrik replied. He climbed the last few steps and pushed open the trap door. Inside was a circular couch, low to the ground. The floor was planned like a smaller version of the house. Windows in each of the cross arms gave a brilliant view of Ellesméra at night. Each of the windows could be opened, Imrik saw, and they were big enough for a dragon to fly through. Imrik grinned when he saw this.

"_Come and see, puppy._" He said to Gwihir.

The dragon growled his annoyance at the nickname. "_I thought you had given that up._" He said. Imrik opened the windows and awaited his arrival. A minute later, and the dragon's sea green bulk had glided through the window in the north and settled down on the couch. Imrik sat next to him and surveyed the forest-city.

"Quite the view." He said aloud. Gwihir silently nodded and swung his head to the east. They sat like that for a few minutes, then Gwihir spoke.

"_We should go to bed, the dawn will bring many strange new things and I want to be well rested for them._" Said the dragon before rising and padding toward the north window again. He jumped out, did a loop, and swooped back into the bedroom. Imrik took one last look, then descended.

He stripped of his legging and tunic, then walked to the wash closet in his under clothes. He stepped around the spray of the nozzle, then began to turn the cold and hot nozzles in equal measure until a stream of lukewarm water was flowing into the small space. Imrik increased the hot water, then stripped off the last of his clothes and stepped into the water. It felt brilliant to wash the dirt, grime, sweat and filth from his limbs. He washed himself all over, then flicked his hair over his shoulder and washed that to, combing his finger through the long sable strands. When he had finished, he turned off the water and dried himself with magic. Dressing in his underclothes again, he walked to the bed and lay down on the soft mattress.

"_Goodnight Gwihir_" he said sleepily.

"_Goodnight, little prince._" replied the dragon.

In the morning, Imrik awoke feeling content and comfortable. He rolled over and smiled as Gwihir twitched in his sleep. He awoke him with a flicker of thought, then hauled himself into a sitting position. He looked out on the morning glory of the forest and grinned. Getting out of bed, he jumped over to the window and surveyed the sight with keep and wondrous eyes.

"_You may want to move._" Was all the warning Imrik got. He dove to the side as Gwihir launched himself like a green spear out into the morning sun. He dove low over the trees. A roar echoed over the tree tops, celebrating Gwihir's joy. Imrik laughed aloud.

Imrik was going to run up to the tower before he realised that there was food left by the trapdoor. He walked over to it. A bundle of clothes were also there, but it was mainly to platters of fruit and vegetables. A note was resting on top of the clothes. Imrik picked it up and read it.

_Greetings, Gwihir and Imrik._

_I, Bellaen of House Miolandra, do humbly apologise to you, Gwihir, for this unsatisfactory meal. We elves do not hunt, as I am sure you are aware, and no meat is to be found in Ellesméra, nor in any of our cities. If you wish, you can do as the dragons of old were wont, and catch what you may in Du Weldenvarden. We only ask that you leave your kills in the forest so that our air and water remains untainted by blood. _

_Imrik, these clothes are for you. They were woven by Niduen of Islanzadí's house and are her gift to you._

_May good fortune rule over you,_

_May peace live in your heart,_

_And the stars watch over you._

_Bellaen du Hlj__ö__dhr_

Imrik relayed the message to Gwihir, then picked up the platters and the clothes and brought them to the bed. Laying down the larger for Gwihir, he sat cross legged and began to eat. Gwihir only nibbled at his food, having eaten his full yesterday.

After finishing the food, Imrik carefully untied the clothes and laid them out on the bed. Two full length tunic of a mottled green trimmed with gold, a set of cream coloured leggings that felt like water flowing over his hands and three pairs of socks made in the same way. The weaving was remarkable, just as good as the fabric his own clothes were made of. While he was admiring his new raiment, a soft knock came from the trapdoor.

"Enter," Imrik said without thinking.

He turned to face his visitor, and found himself looking at Arya. Her left eyebrow was raised and a faint red colour had appeared on her cheeks. Imrik was about to question her when he followed her gaze down ... to his underclothes.

"Errr..." he said, blushing crimson and pulling one of the tunics from the bed and flinging it over his head, getting himself tangled in his haste. He flailed and tripped over Gwihir's tail, falling hard onto the floor. Gwihir was laughing at him, and Arya's mockingbird trill could be heard as well. Imrik groaned, sorted himself out and straightened. Touching two fingers to his lips and saying the first line of the greeting, he tried to recover his dignity. Arya replied with the second line. Imrik decided to forgo the third line and simply said,

"Princess Arya, I cry your pardon for my appearance when you entered. I spoke without thinking."

"I accept your apology, Rider Imrik, and recommend you to turn your tunic the right way around, you will look rather foolish if you go out like that." Imrik groaned again and took off the tunic, turned it round and put it back on again. "I will wait outside for you to be dressed. Join us soon, for the queen awaits you." She said with a smirk, then left Imrik standing there.

He sighed and grabbed the leggings, pulling them on. He put on a pair of the new socks and his boots. Buckling on his sword, he made his way to the trapdoor.

"_Careful you don't trip!" _Gwihir called to him. Imrik made a rude gesture over his shoulder and pulled up the flap and walked down the steps to where Arya was waiting. She smiled a little at him, then began to walk down the steps. Imrik followed sullenly, not noticing the change in Arya's mood through his wounded pride. The queen awaited them at the bottom in a cloak of swan feathers. Her features shone in the sun, though it could not disguise her obvious tenseness. A host of other elves, all nobles, were also with her. They too had a feeling of nervousness and anxiety. Imrik wondered what was wrong, not liking it much.

After greeting her, she simply said, "Follow me." Then she swept of in the direction of Eragon's dwelling. Gwihir sailed down from the house to join them. A little while later, they approached the house. Orik and Lutheni were walking out to meet them from the path that led to the feasting area. Orik looked over them, then started to climb the stairs to Eragon's house.

Lutheni walked over to Imrik, a smile on her lips. She was wearing her lion cloak over the new alagaësian garments, a bright red tunic bordered with gold and the same cream coloured leggings as Imrik. Her smile faltered as she caught the mood of the other elves. She came close and whispered in his ear too low for the others to hear, "What's happened, Imrik?"

He shrugged in reply, not knowing what else to say. Eragon and Orik descended and greeted the queen, before she asked them to follow her and they headed off through Ellesméra. Lutheni and Imrik kept close to one another throughout their twisting journey to the edge of the city. At the base of a tree-studded hill, Islanzadí turned to them.

"Before we go any further, the six of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

"Why should I gag myself?" demanded Orik.

"Yes, why? Do you not trust us?" Asked Imrik, affronted.

"It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs – it's our greatest advantage over Galbatorix – and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, Orik-vodhr. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Father Dûr. And you, Lutheni of Chrace. You will not be welcomed in Ellesméra if you do not swear this to me."

Lutheni scowled and Orik looked deep in thought. They looked at each other, then Orik said "I believe that you mean no harm to the dwarves or to the Varden, else I would never agree. And I hold you to the honour of your hall and clan that this isn't a ploy to deceive us. Tell me what to say."

"I agree also. If Imrik consents, that is good enough for me." Said Lutheni.

While Islanzadi taught Orik and Lutheni the correct word and pronunciation, Imrik talked to Gwihir with his mind. "_She is a great politician. She left us no room to wriggle out of it. I just hope it is worth it._"

"_It must be some great secret if we have to swear like this. Islanzadí said it was their greatest advantage over Galbatorix so I believe it will be worth binding ourselves._" Replied Gwihir. Imrik nodded his head. When the other had finished, Imrik, Eragon and the dragons delivered their oaths.

"Thank you. Now we may proceed." Said Islanzadí.

The climbed to the top of the hill, where the trees were replaced by a sea of red clovers that ran several yards out towards a cliff. The cliff was at least two leagues long. It dropped over a thousand feet down to the forest, which spread out before them like a blanket, covering the world with green. Imrik felt as if he was standing on the edge of the world, trying to decide whether to leap off.

_Thud_. The air shuddered from the strength of the mighty blow. _Thud._ Another blunt blow made Imrik clench his teeth. Gwihir half growled. _Thud._ The force of the impact made Imrik shiver, but he remained motionless. If Arya could do it, so could he. Eragon jammed his fingers into his ears to try and save his hearing, Lutheni winced and bent her knees slightly. _Thud._ The displaced wind flattened the clover.

_Thud. _From below the lip of the cliff, a huge gold dragon rose with a Rider on its back.

Imrik felt as if he was looking at one of the old legends come to life. He stared in awe as the majestic dragon hung before them. Its scales blazed like molten metal. It was easily three times Gwihir's size. Imrik instantly judged it as a moon dragon, and knelt. Eragon had fallen to his knees. As the dragon came in to land, Imrik saw that where its left foreleg should have been, a white and helpless stump was all that remained of the powerful limb. He gasped at the damage.

The Rider on the dragon dismounted and Imrik thought for a fleeting second that he was facing Caledor Dragontamer himself. The elf looked old enough, but he was not Imrik's distant ancestor. He held his hands clasped in front of him and had such a depth of compassion and sadness in his face, Imrik did not doubt that he had suffered great pain.

"Osthato Chetowä," Eragon said, surprising Imrik. "The Mourning Sage ... As you asked, I have come." Imrik was now more than a little confused. How did Eragon now the older Rider? Eragon touched his first two finger to his lips in greeting. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The Rider smiled at Eragon and raised him by the shoulders. Imrik averted his eyes and kept his head down. His pride rebelled, but he quelled it. Now was not the time for arrogance.

"Oromis is my proper name, Eragon Shadeslayer." His voice was like that of all elves. Melodious and timeless. "Rise, son of Caledor, you have been made known to me."

Imrik rose to his feet, his questions now magnified. He greeted Oromis, but could not find the words to voice his thoughts. Instead, Islanzadí took his place.

"You knew," her voice was like the whisper of wind that precedes a thunderstorm. Her hurt expression morphed into rage. "You knew of Eragon and Imrik's existence and you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"

Oromis turned from Eragon and faced the queen. "I kept the peace because it was uncertain if Eragon, Arya or Imrik would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment. I also had a message telling me not to reveal anything until this time."

"A message? From whom? You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, the Riders and their dragons in Farthen Dûr and to escort them to safely here."

Oromis smiled sadly. "I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see. If you had scryed the land, as is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of Arya, Eragon and Imrik. That you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but Brom? Vinr Älfakyn? The last of the Elf Friends? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí, and lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another lose. As for the messenger, I cannot reveal them for I do not know myself, I only felt them while I searched for Eragon. They told me not to reveal what I found until the son of Caledor knelt before me. The son of Caledor is obviously Imrik."

Islanzadí's anger drained from her. Her face paled and her shoulders slumped. "I am diminished," she whispered.

The gold dragon bent to examine Eragon. He large golden eyes rested upon him for a few minutes, before Eragon lifted two fingers to his lips and said, "I am honoured." Then the dragon turned to Imrik. Imrik dropped into a low bow and Gwihir bent him head.

"**Greeting, great one.**" Imrik murmured softly.

"_Well met, Imrik Gwindorian. I am Glaedr._" A rumbling male voice echoed through his head, shaking it like an earthquake.

"I am graced and honoured." Imrik replied with humility.

Glaedr then swept his head around to Saphira. She remained perfectly still while he sniffed down her cheek bone and along her wing. Her leg shivered involuntarily. The great dragon appeared to be satisfied, and so turned to Gwihir. Gwihir looked him dead in the eye, the same way he had done when they had first met Imrik, the Dragonlord, and his star dragon. Glaedr stared right back, then said with a chuckle, "_You have a fierce heart, young one. Your race are indeed masters of war and I look forward to fighting by your side._"

While this silent conversation was taking place, Orik and Lutheni presented themselves to Oromis. Orik spoke to the Rider.

"Truly, this is beyond anything I dared hope or expect. You are a pleasant surprise in these dark times, Rider." He saluted Oromis in the dwarven fashion. "If it is not too presumptuous, I would ask a boon on behalf of my king and my clan, as was the custom between our people."

Oromis nodded. "And I will grant it if it is within my power."

"Then tell me: Why have you remained hidden all these years? You were sorely needed, Argetlam."

"Ah," Oromis said, "Many sorrows exist in this world and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I could not risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs had hatched, then there would have been no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider and it would have been even harder to defeat Galbatorix."

"That was your reason?" spat Orik. "Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might never have hatched."

It went deathly quiet in the clearing, except for a growling from between Glaedr's teeth. Imrik was torn. He agreed with Orik, but also saw the truth in Oromis's words. Lutheni put her hand on Orik's shoulder.

"If you were not my guest here, I would strike you down myself for that insult." Hissed Islanzadí.

Imrik had a reply for the queen, but Oromis cut him off, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. "Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability and I," he touched his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against you. So I removed myself from Galbatorix's influence for the good of many, even though I yearned to openly oppose him."

"The Cripple Who Is Whole." Said Eragon quietly.

"Forgive me." Said Orik, his face stricken with shame and sadness.

"It is of no consequence. Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?" he said, placing one hand on Eragon's shoulder and the other on Imrik's.

"Go. Go and be done with you." She replied wearily.

Oromis turned ad climbed nimbly onto Glaedr's back, who had crouched low to the ground for his Rider. "Come, Imrik and Eragon, Saphira and Gwihir. We have much to talk about." The gold dragon jumped into the air and began to circle over head.

Eragon and Orik clasped arms and exchanged words. Imrik turned to Lutheni. "Don't shame your people." She said with a grunt. Imrik grinned in response.

He swung up onto Gwihir, Eragon mounting Saphira next to him. He turned and grinned at Arya. Eragon did the same. Arya half frowned, but she could not voice her opinions because Saphira had swept into the sky and Gwihir was not being left behind.

**A/N: right, that's it for this chapter. If you liked it, hated it or have some comments or questions for me, then REVIEW. Or pm me, doesn't make much difference ;) also, thanks to those who reviewed on quest accounts. I usually reply to reviews but that's not possible with a guest, so thanks! Also, thanks to my readers in all those countries around the world. From America to Russia, I was stunned at how many people read this story. I thank you all so much **** Next chapter (and those afterwards) will mainly be training and the Blood Oath Celebration. And you won't want to miss that when it happens ;) right, that was a long author's note. Once more, cheers!**

**Caledor out!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

**A/N: ****Right, here we go again. This chapter will mainly be training and moving towards (including if I can) the Blood Oath celebrations. You won't want to miss that bit, because Imrik's true purpose will be revealed. Also, when Imrik and Gwihir talk, please assume it is in high elven. They are both used to using it and so they would slip back into their home tongue when at ease. Thanks, I'll use bold when Imrik says things in high elven to other people. Right, onwards!**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own anything except Imrik, Lutheni and the plot.**

**Bold script = high elven**

Together, the six of them flew out across Du Weldenvarden, following the white cliff line for several miles. Gwihir flew to Glaedr's left, Saphira on the older dragon's right. Gwihir seemed to have shrugged off whatever awe he felt for the older dragon. Imrik still held his respect for the pair, but also was no longer awed by their presence.

They landed in a clearing near the edge of the cliff. A path worn into the earth by the passage of time led to the door of a low hut situated between four trees. One of the trees straddled a stream that ran from the depths of the forest to tumble off the cliff. The hut was too small for the dragons; it could have been placed between Glaedr's ribs with room to spare.

"Welcome to my home," said Oromis as he landed on the ground with grace only an elf could achieve. "I live here, on the brink of the Crags of Tel'naeír, because it provides me the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people."

He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with three stools and flagons of water drawn from the stream. Imrik accepted his drink and sipped it. He looked around as Oromis sat down, and took in the beauty of the place. The trees shone with life and all around him he felt animals and insects thriving. Gwihir was looking across at Saphira and Glaedr, the former kneading the ground with her claws.

The silence stretched longer and longer. Usually, Imrik's patience would have worn thin by now, but with all of the events happening recently, he was enjoying the time of peace. Eragon seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as the boy was unnaturally silent. And so they sat for a time.

Finally Oromis spoke. "You have learned the value of patience well. That is good."

Eragon appeared to fumble with his words then said, "You can't stalk a deer if you are in a hurry."

"Nor spring a trap if you don't wait for the right moment." Said Imrik, taking another sip from his flagon.

"True enough." Said Oromis, lowering his flagon. "Let me see your hands, both of you. I find they can tell me much about a person." Eragon removed his gloves and offered his hands to the old elf. Oromis gripped Eragon's wrists and examined his hands. "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plough more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow."

"Aye." Said Eragon. Imrik was silently impressed by this; a mere farm boy who had such skill with the sword was a rare thing.

"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all."

"Brom taught me my letters in Teirm."

"Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems obvious that you tend to be reckless and disregard your own safety."

Imrik snorted at that. Eragon looked respectful still, asking politely, "What makes you say that, Oromis-elda?"

"Not elda," Oromis corrected, "You may call me master in this tongue and ebrithil in the ancient language, nothing else. You will extend the same courtesy to Glaedr. We are your teachers; you are our students; and you will act with proper respect and deference." Oromis spoke with a gentle tone, but there was steel in his voice, that of one who expects to obeyed.

"Yes, Master Oromis." Said Eragon

"As will the rest of you." Said Oromis, looking up at Imrik.

Imrik struggled with his pride, sense battling with arrogance. If any could doubt the pride of Caledor, they could see its true strength as even Saphira and Gwihir obliged before Imrik spat out the words, "Yes... Master."

Oromis didn't bat an eye but simply nodded and turned back to Eragon. "Now. Anyone with such a collection of scars has either been hopelessly unfortunate, fights like a berserker, or deliberately pursues danger. Do you fight like a berserker?"

"No."

"Nor do you seem unfortunate; quite the opposite. That leaves only one explanation. Unless you think differently?"

Eragon was silent for a moment, thinking, then said, "I would say, rather, that once I dedicate myself to a certain project or path, I see it through, no matter the cost ... especially if someone I love is in danger."

"And do you undertake challenging projects?"

"I like to be challenged."

"So you feel the need to pit yourself against adversity in order to test your abilities."

"I enjoy overcoming challenges, but I've faced enough hardship to know that it's foolish to make things more difficult than they are. It's all I can do to survive as it is."

"Yet you chose to follow the Ra'zac when it would have been easier to remain in Palancar Valley. And you came here."

"It was the right thing to do ... Master."

Oromis nodded, then released Eragon and turned to Imrik. Imrik offered his bare hands; he had neglected to put on gloves. Oromis took them in a firm grip that felt like soft paper. He examined Imrik's hands for a minute, then looked up at him.

"These are the hands of a warrior, and a good one at that. You tend towards the spear, if I am not wrong, but are competent with most weapons. You also fight with pride, perhaps even arrogance, throwing yourself into deadly situations for the fun of it and the glory of conquering uneven odds."

"That seems like an accurate description." Imrik smiled.

"Your pride could be your undoing, but you have a strong will. I sense that your heart is pure, but you have known too much sorrow for one your age."

"Thank you ... Master." Imrik muttered the last bit, forcing the word out.

Oromis smiled. "Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?"

"No, it does not, except in battle." Imrik said.

"We will have to work on that, then." He said with a faint smile, then relaxed back onto his stool. Imrik took another sip of water as Oromis thought. After several minutes, he raised his eyes again, "Eragon, were you, perchance, given a trinket of some kind in Tarnag? A piece of jewellery, armour, or even a coin?"

"Aye." Replied the teen, pulling the silver hammer from under his tunic. "Gannel made this for me on Hrothgar's orders, to prevent anyone from scrying Saphira or me. They were afraid that Galbatorix might have discovered what I look like... How did you know?"

"Because I could no longer sense you." Replied the old elf.

"How do you mean, sense him? Surely you could only scry him?" Imrik asked, confused.

"Then was it you who tried to scry me near Sílthrim?" asked Eragon.

Oromis shook his head. "After I first scryed you with Arya and Imrik, and the messengers came to me, I had no need to use such crude methods to find you both. I could reach out and touch your minds with mine, as I did when you were injured in Farthen Dûr, Eragon." Oromis lifted the amulet and inspected it, muttering a few lines in the ancient language. Releasing it, he looked up at them again. "It contains no other spells that I can detect. Keep it with you at all times, it is a valuable gift." He pressed his long fingers together and started out over the cliff between the vaulted ceiling of his hands.

"Master ... who were the messengers? Could you tell me anything about them?" Imrik asked, his patience almost run thin.

Oromis was silent for a little, then spoke. "One felt feminine, with a kind aura of untold power, the other was more masculine, but was also extremely powerful, more powerful than any being I have come into contact with before. Their minds were alien; I could not fathom what they were, except that they both held strong connections to you and your race, Imrik. Does that help you?"

Imrik thought for a minute, trying to piece the information together, then grinned. "Kurnus and Isha!" He exclaimed. Oromis looked confused and Eragon startled, the boy remembering what Imrik had taught him about High Elven culture. "They are the father and mother of my race, the gods of hunting and nature respectively. Though why they would wish for Islanzadí not to know of mine and Eragon's existence is unclear." Imrik fell back into contemplation, barely hearing Oromis talking to Eragon. He didn't notice Oromis's face contort and his body stiffen, nor the conversation that followed. All he could think of was why the gods were interfering in his life, why they had warned Oromis not to tell Islanzadí. They must have had a purpose, they must have...

"Imrik!" the sharp shout brought him out of his mind and into the world. Oromis and Eragon were standing in front of him. "Stand and remove your tunic." Said the old elf. Imrik did as he was bid; noticing Eragon was taking off his own tunic.

Oromis walked around them in a circle, stopping behind Eragon's back and letting out a gasp of surprise. "Did not Arya or one of the Varden's healers offer to remove this weal? You should not have to carry it."

A memory clicked in Imrik's brain, the words Asuryan had spoken to him when he had healed Eragon's back. _He shall carry the scar as a reminder of his folly until he joins with his dragon completely. He shall feel the pain of his folly whenever it strays from his mind._ Imrik jolted and turned to Eragon, opening his mouth to voice the memory, then considered what it would mean to him. Feelings erupted into war inside Imrik, honour telling his to tell Eragon, his mind wondering what it would do to the boy. He settled for a compromise.

"She could not have healed it," he said, cutting across Eragon as he tried to answer. "I remember now. When Asuryan gave me to the power to save you, Eragon, he said something to me. He told me that you would carry that scar as a reminder of your folly but that it would be healed by dragons. You need to understand his will, he would have you bond with Saphira until you are one."

Eragon stared at him, dumbstruck. Oromis looked interested as well. "You mean... all this time... your god has been causing me this pain!?" Eragon's voice broke as his anger rose.

"Yes. I cannot and will not contest his will, Eragon. What he says shall be, we must simply live with it. I am sure that this training will help achieve the goal set by My Lord, to bond with Saphira. You will be cured." Imrik said softly.

Eragon glared at him, then let out a breath and slumped to the ground. Oromis stood over him, then said, "Now, at least, you have a goal to work towards. You have agreed to fight through the pain, let us begin now and put past woes behind us."

Imrik held out his hand to Eragon, who grasped it after a moment. Imrik pulled him up, then smiled apologetically. Eragon nodded as though he was very tired, then turned to face Oromis again.

Over the next five or six hours, Oromis had them perform various stretches, in which Imrik was far superior to Eragon. Saphira, however, out classed Gwihir in aerial acrobatics, only a few things eluding her mastery. Gwihir didn't do too badly, but he had much more room to improve than Saphira did. After this exercise, Oromis interrogated them about the history of Alagaësia, of which Imrik knew very little. He had picked up a few things, but even Eragon's patchy knowledge was better than his own. When Oromis decided to break for lunch, Imrik's head was trying to commit everything he had heard to memory.

The older elf invited them into his house, leaving the dragons outside with each other. Imrik looked around at Oromis's house with approval. It was not covered with décor, but nor was it completely barren. A strange painting hung on the door, so real that it looked like a portal at first glance. Two walls were devoted entirely to scrolls. The rest of the house was filled with the essentials for food, study and hygiene. Next to the table, a golden sheath hung on the wall. Next to it was a sword that shone with the colour of Glaedr's scales.

"Where is this?" asked Eragon, looking closely at the painting.

"You would both do well to memorise that landscape, for there lies the heart of your misery. You see what was once our city of Ilirea. It was burned and abandoned during Du Fyrn Skulblaka and became the capital of the Broddring Kingdom and is now the black city of Urû'baen. I made that fairth on the night that I and others were forced to flee our home before Galbatorix arrived."

"You painted this... fairth?" asked Eragon.

"No, no such thing. A fairth is an image fixed by magic upon a square of polished slate that is prepared beforehand with layers of pigments. The landscape upon that door is exactly how Ilirea presented itself to me at the moment I uttered my spell."

"And what was the Broddring Kingdom?" Asked Eragon again. Imrik smiled at the boy's inquisitive nature.

Oromis looked dismayed, "You don't know?" Eragon shook his head. Imrik remained still, knowing that this question was directed at Eragon only. How could he be expected to know of it?

"How can you not? Considering your circumstances and fear that Galbatorix wields among your people, I might understand that you were raised in darkness, ignorant of your heritage. But I cannot credit Brom with being so lax with your instruction as to neglect subjects that even the youngest elf or dwarf knows about. The children of the Varden could tell me more about the past."

"It seems to me that Brom was more concerned with keeping the only hope for this world alive than teaching him about what has already passed." Retorted Imrik, his pride edging into his voice.

Oromis was silent for a time. Finally, he looked up at the two of them, "Forgive me. I did not mean to impugn Brom's judgement, only I am impatient beyond reason; we have so little time, and each new thing you must learn reduces that which you can master during your tenure here."

He rose and opened a few of the cupboards, removing bread rolls and bowls of fruit, which he placed on the table. He sat down again and hovered over his food for a second then began to eat. Imrik picked up a few blueberries and popped them into his mouth as Oromis began to enlighten them.

"The Broddring Kingdom was the human's country before the Riders fell. After Galbatorix killed Vrael, he flew on Ilirea with the Forsworn and deposed King Angrenost, taking his throne and titles for his own. The Broddring kingdom then formed the core of Galbatorix's conquests. He added Vroengard and other lands to the east and south to his holdings, creating the empire you are familiar with. Technically, the Broddring kingdom still exists, though, at this point, I doubt that it is much more than a name on royal decrees."

Imrik concentrated on his food and brooded. Galbatorix was a murderer, traitor and now a usurper. Imrik knew now that any thoughts of going home and staying there were not an option anymore. If the Galbatorix wanted to have dominion over all life, Imrik was ready to stand in his way. It reminded him of how the High Elves did something similar with the forces of Chaos, stopping them from taking over the world. Again, his thoughts drifted back to something Arya had said in Farthen Dûr. She had said that the ancient language may be able to repel the effects of Chaos, allowing an army to march through the Chaos wastes to the warp gate at the pole and close it. Imrik hoped with all his heart that this was the truth, for it would be the salvation of his people.

He lost track of his thoughts again for the second time, missing most of what Oromis told Eragon about Morzan and Brom. He finished his food and began to sip the water he had been given subconsciously. Oromis's laughter made him jump and brought him back to the real world.

"I assume you both explored your quarters last night?" they both nodded, Imrik wondering what Oromis was talking about. "And you both found the small room with the depression in the floor?"

"The wash-room?" asked Imrik, puzzled as to why this was being brought up.

"Exactly Imrik! It is to wash _you_, Eragon! Not clothes as you may have thought. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also," He waved a hand at Eragon's chin, which had a few wispy hairs clinging to it, "while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard – if you so choose – and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and mirror found and brought to you."

Eragon agreed with a wince. Imrik smiled slightly, glad he didn't have to worry about shaving. They moved back outside, Oromis sending a look to Glaedr. The dragon spoke to then in his deep, rumbling voice.

"_We have decided upon a curriculum for you all._"

"You will start – " said Oromis.

"- _an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of the Red Lily. Return here then._"

"And bring the saddle Brom made for you, Saphira. Gwihir, I would like to inspect your saddle as well. Do as you wish in the meantime, Ellesméra has many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them."

"We will remember that." Said Imrik with a smile. He climbed up on Gwihir's back.

"Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. Despite Imrik's aid, you saved me from the Shade's magic. I am in your debt." Eragon bowed his head. Oromis smiled and mirrored the action before Eragon climbed on Saphira and they flew out over Du Weldenvarden again.

After watching Imrik and Eragon fly off into the sunlight, Lutheni was at a loss for something to do. She returned with Orik to Ellesméra where they went in search of food. Finding fruit and vegetables aplenty, along with bread and seedcakes, they ate a filling if not satisfying lunch together. Orik broke the silence that had reigned between them.

"So, elf, where do you hail from?" he asked in a polite voice.

"I come from the land of Chrace, dwarf, a land of mountains, pine trees and deadly wild beasts. My people pride ourselves in being the hardies of all the elves in Ulthuan. You see, we are the first line of defence; the easiest way for the Druchii to invade the rest of the kingdoms. When war comes, it hits us first."

"It sounds like a hard life." Said Orik, nodding his head.

"It is not all bad," Lutheni said, a smile stealing onto her face. "My people have the great honour of guarding the Phoenix King. When we fight, we fight with the knowledge that our king depends upon us to win him victory."

"A great honour indeed!" exclaimed Orik. "And how did you meet Imrik?"

Lutheni smiled as she thought of her first meeting with the arrogant son of Caledor. "We met at court, as is the custom between the noble houses. He was there as an invited guest, being cousins with the great Imrik Dragonlord, his namesake. I was there as a show piece, having just became available for marriage. My father wanted me to look upon the fine princes and choose those I liked. I told him I would rather be training to become a White Lion, the elite huntsmen who guard the Phoenix King." Lutheni grinned and pulled her lion-skin closer around her.

Orik nodded his head in understanding. "And what happened then?"

"My father laughed at me, then introduced me to one of princes of Saphrey, who I rejected on sight; too bookish. I rejected another three before I came across Imrik. He smirked at me, looking me up and down and laughed. I was... annoyed at his attitude, so I told him to shut up, to which he told me to try to make him." Lutheni's grin turned savage as she remembered what had happened next. Orik gave her a questioning look.

"I tackled him to the ground, while in my dress, and tried to punch him in the face." She said by way of explanation. "He dodge and pushed my off him, then attacked me himself. We fought until my father pulled me off him and Imrik Dragonlord got between us. After that, whenever we saw each other, we fought; either with words or fists. Gradually, we evolved a game out of it, seeing who could win the most. Imrik's older brother paired us together during one of our shouting matches and, by unspoken consent, we both attacked him." She laughed, making several elves look across at them with confusion before turning away again. Orik laughed too.

"That is an interesting way to form a friendship!" he declared when he had recovered.

"Yes it is." Replied Lutheni smiling. "We kept trying to outdo the other, I would carry a standard into battle, he would become the champion of his regiment. Both of us decided that going through the ranks would give us more experience than doing what the nobility usually do and go straight into cavalry fighting. When we did rise to the silver helms, I became high helm ahead of him. He was furious!" Lutheni chuckled. "But he planned a great vengeance upon me. He asked my father to accompany us on a hunt, the hunt that all warriors who seek to join the White Lions must take. My father agreed."

"I think I can see where this is going..." muttered Orik.

"Imrik came with us, armed only with a borrowed axe and a hunting knife. He hadn't bothered wearing any armour either, a simple green jerkin and leggings with his green cape. I laughed at him and told him he would die; he disagreed." Lutheni's face turned sour and she lowered her voice. "When we were hunting... he got separated... came across a lion, a real lion! We found him in half an hour, sitting on the corpse with his axe embedded in its throat and his hunting knife in his hands. His eyes were cocky and a smirk was plastered on his face. I can't recall how long it was that I didn't speak to him, but it was at least a year."

She sighed and Orik nodded in understanding while pulling out his pipe and lighting it. After a few puffs he looked up and said, "I can see why that would hurt you so. It was a cruel revenge."

"Yes it was, and he wore the cloak he made from the beast's skin every time he knew he would see me. He had won our contest, for I could not better him. I could never ride one of the dragons. But after a while, his pride softened and he offered his cloak as way of apology. Of course I refused, but we stopped testing each other from that day, simply having, as you would call it, friendly banter. When I earned my own cloak, Imrik was one of the first to congratulate me. Maybe, in years to come, we may have been more than friends, but I think he does not see me in that light at all." Lutheni sighed again, "Why am I telling you this, Orik?"

Orik grinned. "Because you needed to talk to someone about these feelings and you can't really talk to the elves around here, much less Imrik himself. Eragon and the dragons are out of the question so that leaves little ol' me. Don't fear, elf, I will not tell a soul. You have my word as a dwarf of the Ingeitum. As for Imrik and his feelings, perhaps you simply need to open his eyes, he does keep them rather closed at times."

"Thank you Orik." Said Lutheni with a small, sad smile on her face. "I think I may try that."

"Good luck lass." Said Orik, putting a comforting hand on hers, then leaning back in his chair, puffing out a smoke ring and blowing it in front of them. Lutheni smiled and leaned back also. Thus they spent the day, talking of little things and spending a few hours of peace in comfort.

Imrik and Gwihir flew with Eragon and Saphira back over the trees to Ellesméra. When they parted, Imrik could feel the bubbling pit of anger in Gwihir's chest begin to rise. He growled and spat a jet of flame at a passing bird. It dodged the lethal flames, but only just. Imrik tried to access Gwihir's mind and find out what was wrong with him, but the dragon blocked him out and would not let Imrik see what was troubling him, though the anger and something akin to jealousy still flowed down their link, making Imrik even more confused.

"_I'm going to explore, do you wish to come?" _Imrik asked in an attempt to get Gwihir to talk to him.

"_No._" Was the sullen reply. Imrik patted his friend on the flank and headed to the trap door.

Once on the ground, Imrik wasn't sure where to go. He considered going and trying to find Lutheni and Orik, but then remembered that he wouldn't know where to start and would probably get lost in the maze of trees. His next idea was to go and see Arya. So, without changing or any real reason, he set off to find his friend.

When he found Arya's home, he was impressed to say the least. He wondered around the green, leafy walls, looking for a way in. It seemed like he had been walking for hours and he was growing frustrated when a light chuckle sounded behind him. He turned with a mock glare in his eyes. Arya stood there, dressed in a flowing green dress. It was circled at the waist by a band of gold twisted and linked together. In the centre sat a bright emerald. The dress itself brought out Arya's eyes, shifting from shade to shade, one moment light forest green, and the next dark like the stormy sea. She smiled at him.

"Still haven't found the way in, Imrik? I am surprised, a clever and educated Rider such as yourself, defeated by a wall of bushes. Are you sure you are the mighty warrior you claim to be?" she teased him. Imrik laughed sarcastically.

"I have a solution, but I fear you and your kin may be against me burning down this wall of leaves to gain entry. But if you insist..." he said, setting his left hand alight with a whispered word. Arya's eyes lit up with surprise and fear.

"No! Don't." she cried. Imrik laughed as he extinguished the flame.

"Then do not taunt me so, Princess. Come, show me your home. I have seen enough of your hedges." He said with a small smirk.

Arya glared at him, then smiled and lead him to an arch he had not previously noticed. Imrik rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

"Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine." She said to the doorway.

The arch trembled and burst open, releasing five monarch butterflies. Imrik looked through the arch and saw a vast garden of flowers. They were arranged to look like they had been growing there before even the elves had arrived there. Imrik's eyes widened at the sheer volume and variety of plants in the garden. All around, the flameless lanterns glowed, illuminating the scene and attracting all the insect life. Arya grabbed his hand and pulled him into the garden. "Come. Come!" she said with a smiled and dragged him deeper into the flowers.

Before Imrik was quite aware what was happening, he was in a hall made of trees. He blinked in surprise, for he had no memory of entering. The hall itself was magnificent. The trees that formed it had been stripped of their bark and polished with oil until they shone, smooth and sleek.

"This is where you would have stayed, if you were not Rider and dragon." Said Arya.

"As you can see, I have a lack of dragon at the present time." Imrik said ruefully. Arya cocked her head to the side and gave him a questioning look. Imrik shrugged at her unasked question. "He is suddenly in a black mood; he will not talk to me. All I could feel from our link was anger and jealousy. I have no idea what is wrong with him."

Arya thought for a minute, then replied. "Perhaps Saphira has taken greater interest in Glaedr than Gwihir would like?" She questioned. Imrik considered this, then smirked.

"I think you may have got it, Arya. I shall enquire further upon my return to the tree." He replied. "Speaking of which, it is late. I must return. Thank you for showing me your home, it is truly beautiful." Arya nodded her understanding and lead him back to the gate.

"Goodnight Imrik. Sleep well." She said with a smile.

"Goodnight Arya." He said with a bow. Then the doors shut in his face and he turned and walked back to the tree-house.

Morning came and Lutheni arose to the sounds of birds chirping outside her window. She smiled at the sound and rose from the comfortable bed the elves had given her in Arya's home. She looked around her quarters once more, still pleasantly surprise that Arya had given her such a nice room after all the horrid things they had done to each other. Perhaps it's a peace offering, she thought, and decided to attempt a civil conversation with the princess.

She had been sitting in the hall last night when Imrik had come in with Arya and Lutheni had debated going over to talk to him, but decided against it. He had obviously come to seek out Arya, for Orik and Lutheni had yet to tell him where they were dwelling. The first night had been spent in a guest room near Eragon's house but yesterday Arya had come to find them in the dining hall and told them that her mother had granted them permission to stay in their home and rooms had been prepared for them.

She got up and went to the door, wrapping her lion-cloak around her shoulders so she wasn't just in her underclothes. She opened the door and found, as promised by the princess, food and another set of clothes. She picked them up and took them inside, laying them out of the large, comfortable bed. A pair of autumn orange leggings and a long white blouse with yellow vines and leaves embroidered upon it that came down the bottom of her waist. A red jerkin had also been provided, again with the yellow embroidery. Lutheni smiled at the attire and went to bathe.

An elvish woman, who Lutheni assumed had brought her the food and the clothes this morning, had shown her how to operate the strange washing contraption last night. Now she went to the little vestibule to try it out for herself. To her delight and satisfaction, she got it right first try. She stripped out of her underclothes and was soon bathing in warm water, washing the tangles and stress of travelling from her hair and body. It felt good to be clean again.

She stepped out of the washing cupboard and padded over to the bed, eyes half shut as she hummed a tune to herself. She got to the bed, then remembered her underclothes; she had left them at the door to the cubicle. She rolled her eyes at herself and went to retrieve them. Picking them up, she wrinkled her nose at the smell and decided that they needed to be washed. She took them into the wash room, turned the water to hot and started to wash her underwear. When she was satisfied that they were clean enough to wear again, she turned off the water and left the cupboard.

Returning to the bed, she weighed up her options. She could either stay in her room and wait for her clothes to dry, or not put any underclothes on and leave them to dry while she was out for the day. Deciding that staying indoors would drive her insane, Lutheni sighed and pulled the new leggings towards her. Pulling them on, she felt self-conscious about not wearing her underclothes. Sighing again, she knew she could do nothing but endure it and hope no-one noticed. She slipped the blouse on, then laced up the jerkin. Pulling on her boots and fastening her cloak around her throat, she strode out to meet the day.

Straight away she knew her luck wasn't with her today when she walk smack-bam into Arya, who had been about to knock on her door. The two fell over and landed in a heap with a soft _thump_. Lutheni was the first to recover herself and bit back a scathing remark, remembering that she was going to try and be nice to the princess. So instead she simply said, "I beg your pardon, Arya!"

Arya blinked and stared up at her, trying to see if there was any truth in her apology. Arya must have seen no lie in her eyes for she replied "Its fine, Lutheni. Could you please get off of me though, it is rather uncomfortable."

Lutheni blushed and raised herself into a kneeling position before standing and offering Arya a hand up. She took it warily, but smiled when Lutheni pulled her upright again.

"Thank you," she said.

Lutheni smiled back at her, then remembered her manners and touched her first two fingers to her lips. Arya mirrored the gesture and spoke the first line of the greeting used by the elves of Du Weldenvarden, Lutheni replying with the second line. Arya decided against the third line; this was not a formal occasion.

"May I enquire as to why you were coming to my chambers?" asked Lutheni politely.

Arya seemed slightly disconcerted by Lutheni's change in demeanour but didn't comment. "I was coming to wake you and ask if you wished for a tour around the city. Orik has declined and instead headed for the training arena, if you should wish to join him."

Lutheni considered for a time, then replied. "I thank you for the offer of a tour, Princess Arya, but I have not swung my axe once since arriving here and I wish to practice. Could you show me where the training grounds are?"

Arya smiled and nodded. "Follow me when you are ready, I shall wait here."

Lutheni thanked her and jumped back inside the door to grab her axe, then returned to Arya's side. The two elf women left the hall together, exchanging polite conversation as Arya guided Lutheni towards the training grounds. When they arrived, Lutheni saw one or two elves shooting at targets with bow, a few sparring with spears and, at the far end of the grounds, a small, squat figure swinging and axe around his head. Lutheni grinned, thanked Arya once more and jogged over to Orik, drawing the eyes of a few of the elves.

"Good morning, dwarf." She said, a grin still on her lips.

Orik stopped twirling his axe and looked up at her. "Good morning to you too, elf. I see you have come to train as well. A restlessness resides in my limbs and only one thing can quench it."

"Then would you care to test yourself against me? Axe to axe?" Lutheni asked with a smirk. Orik's eyes glinted under his helm as a grin appeared under his beard.

"Axe to axe." He said, moving back to allow Lutheni some space of the ground. "Ladies first." He said, raising his axe. Lutheni grinned, raised her own, and charged.

When Imrik returned from training that day, both he and Gwihir were angry, confused and worried. After finding out Eragon's mistake in blessing the child, Imrik knew that the child would be twisted and maddened by the pain Eragon's curse was causing her. Thinking about it now also made him leave for Surda, intent on finding the child and helping her but he knew it would be hopeless; his knowledge of magic was not adequate enough to remove the spell and Oromis had said it was Eragon who had to remove it. Imrik growled his anger and was met with a snarl from Gwihir.

Imrik spun, fire flashing in his eyes as he faced the dragon. "What is your problem?!" he shouted. Imrik was angry about being treated like a child when they had not shared thoughts in training too, but Gwihir was being unreasonably surly.

"_Don't mind me, it's not as though I have feelings as well._" The dragon growled in his mind.

"_As do I, yet your anger has been festering ever since yesterday, it isn't just today. What has upset you? I would help if you would only tell me!_"

Gwihir snarled again, his claws digging marks into the polished wood floor of the bedroom. "_It is none of your concern, you can't help me anyway, it's all his fault._"

"_Who is 'he'?_" Imrik questioned softly, his previous anger gone as quickly as it had come. Finally he was getting to the heart of what was bothering his dearest friend.

Gwihir waited for a long time before replying in a whisper. "_Glaedr... he... Saphira... she completely ignores me now, she's so fascinated by him! You know I find her ...a-attractive but how am I to compete with him? I fear I-I... I fear I'll lose her Imrik, and there's nothing I can do about it!" _Imrik heard a soft splash and realised that Gwihir was crying. He walked over to the partner of his heart and mind and held his snout in a close embrace. Imrik knew what grief could do, remembering is experience in Farthen Dûr, but this was hopelessness and Imrik could do something about that.

"_Hush... Hush now. You have missed something. You have missed the part where Glaedr is at least a hundred years older than Saphira and she has only just met him. You have missed the part where you have been in battle beside her and he hasn't. You have missed the part where you have had long, personal conversations with her, and he hasn't. Hush now. I do not think this darkness in your heart can endure. She will see you as you see her, but it will take time and patience. You must hold true to your feelings and focus on our task. We came to learn, do not let your jealousy of Glaedr get in the way of that._" Gwihir blinked up at him and Imrik felt the anger and frustration leave him. "_Now, what did you learn today?_"

For the next half an hour, Imrik and Gwihir shared memories about their teachings that day. Gwihir snorted at Imrik's single-minded approach to the task but was intrigued by what he had learnt about the habits of the forest beetles and how they would spar with each other using fearsome looking antlers. In return, Gwihir told Imrik about how he and Saphira had learnt to identify dangerous weather patterns, something that would indeed be useful to them in the future.

They had just finished as Arya knocked at the door. Imrik knew it was the princess; he could sense her presence and that of Saphira and Eragon. He called for them to enter and stood to face them. Arya opened the trapdoor at the top of the stairs from the main door with her eye averted.

"Are you dressed, Imrik?" she asked with mockery in her voice. Imrik scowled at the reminder of the previous day and stood.

"Yes, my lady, I am dressed. Why have you sought me out this evening?" he asked, keeping his voice level.

She turned to face him, touched the first two fingers of her left hand to her lips, then smiled warmly. "You and Eragon have both been in the city for three days and have seen little of our wonders. Accompany us this once, proud prince, and let your cares fall from your shoulders."

Imrik sighed and grabbed his sword. "Come on, puppy, we are going exploring." He said over his shoulder as he approached Arya. She sent him a quizzical look as Gwihir growled at the nickname and headed over to the opening in the tree. "A nick-name, nothing more." He said to Arya's unasked question.

They descended the stairs to the main door, opening it to find Eragon standing outside. Imrik sent the boy a smile, which was returned in kind. Together, they trudged down the stairs and headed out into the city, Eragon and Imrik following behind Arya, the dragons following behind. Imrik could feel Gwihir's joy soar at being close to Saphira and being able to talk to her, but felt it sink every time the conversation turned to Glaedr. Imrik spoke little to Eragon, knowing the boy must have his thoughts in a tangle after that day's training.

They followed a winding path through the forest, a few lanterns illuminating their steps in the forest twilight. Elves worked in or around the radius of the lanterns. They were mostly alone, save for the rare couple. Others sat in the trees and sang soft songs to tunes played out on reed pipes. Others still sat on the high boughs and stared at the sky, neither awake or asleep, simply content. Imrik noticed the werecat, Maud, sitting next to a potter as he worked. She glanced up at them and the elf followed her gaze. He nodded to the three without stopping his delicate work.

"What do most elves do for a living or profession?" Asked Eragon in a whisper.

Arya answered in a similar tone. "Our strength in magic grants us as much leisure as we desire. We neither hunt nor farm and, as a result, we spend our days working to master our interests, whatever they may be. Very little exists that we must strive for."

Imrik tried not to feel bitter about this. His own people had very little time for leisure; almost all time was given over to fighting and training. When festivals and court balls were held, there would always be many absent, for if there wasn't an invasion or raid to repulse, there were patrols to do, training to be done and blades to hone. Try as he might, Imrik could not keep from commenting.

"Your people are lucky, for this is a way of life that has not been seen on Ulthaun for over seven thousand years. We call it the Golden Age, when the Everqueen ruled alone and war was unknown to us." Arya shot him a worried glance, then continued to lead them forward as Eragon followed mutely; he seemed to have given up trying to grasp that Imrik's civilisation was older than anything he knew, even surpassing the dwarves by Imrik's reckoning.

They walked through a tunnel of dogwood draped in creepers, entering the atrium of a house grown from a ring of trees. An open-walled hut stood in the centre of the atrium, sheltering a forge and collection of fine tools. An elf woman held a pair of small tongs in the coals, working the bellows with her right hand. With speed Imrik accustomed to a warrior, she lifted the tongs from the fire, revealing a ring of white-hot metal. She then looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail shirt that hung from the anvil, grasped a hammer, and welded the join shut with a single, solid blow.

Arya chose this moment to approach. "Atra esterní ono thelduin." She said, Indicating she held this woman in great respect.

The woman turned to face them and Imrik audibly gasped. With her neck and cheek under lit from the forge, Imrik could clearly see the lines of age and tension running across her face, showing she was not just old, but that she had endured great pain as well. Her eyes flicked to Imrik quickly, then back to Arya. She gave no response to the princess, which Imrik knew was highly discourteous and offensive.

"Rhunön-elda, I have brought you the newest Riders, Eragon Shadeslayer and Imrik of Caledor."

"I heard you were dead." Rhunön said to Arya. Her voice hardly surprised Imrik, yet it was still unnerving to hear an elf speak as she did, her voice like gravel underfoot.

Arya smiled at the statement. "When did you last leave your house, Rhunön?"

"You should know. It was that Midsummer's Feast you forced me to attend."

"That was three years ago."

"Was it?" The old woman frowned as she tended to her forge, then turned on them again. "Well, what of it? I find company trying A gaggle of meaningless chatter that ..." he glared at Arya. "Why are we speaking this foul language? I suppose you want me to forge swords for them? You know I swore to never create instruments of death again, not after that traitor of a Rider and the destruction he wreaked with my blade."

"They already have swords. Imrik, if you please?" she said, holding out her left hand. Imrik eyed the smith warily before unbuckling Dragonfang and handing it to Arya. The princess presented both swords to Rhunön.

The old smith took Zar'roc with a look of wonder. She ran her hands lovingly over the wine-stained sheath, lingering over the black rune etched into it; the name of the sword. She rubbed a bit of dirt from the hilt before drawing the sword with the skill and speed of a professional soldier. She sighted down every angle of the blade and flexed the blade between her hands until Imrik was sure the blade must snap from the tension. Then, in one fluid movement, Rhunön brought the sword up over her head and slashed down at the tongs on the anvil, splitting them like butter.

"Zar'roc, I remember thee." She said, cradling the sword like a mother. "As perfect as the day you were finished." She turned her back on them and raised her head to look up at the twisting branches above. "My entire life I spent hammering these swords out of ore. Then _he _came and destroyed them. Centuries of work obliterated in an instant. So far as I knew, only four examples of my art still existed. _His _sword, Oromis's and two others guarded by families who managed to rescue them from the Wyrdfell."

"_Another name for the Foresworn._" Said Arya in Imrik's mind.

Rhunon turned to Eragon. "Now Zar'roc has returned to me. Of all my creations, this I least expected to hold again, save for _his_. How came you to possess Morzan's sword?"

"It was given to me by Brom." Replied Eragon.

"Brom?" Rhunon hefted the sword. "Brom... I remember Brom. He begged me to replace the sword he had lost. Truly, I wished to help him, but I had already taken my oath. My refusal angered him beyond reason. Oromis had to knock him unconscious before he would leave."

"Your handiwork has served me well, Rhunon-elda. I would be long dead if not for Zar'roc. I killed the Shade Durza with it." Said Eragon eagerly.

"Did you now? Then some good has come of it." Sheathing Zar'roc, she reluctantly returned the blade. She noticed the other held before her and reached out to take Imrik's sword.

"This is not one of my blades..." she said as she ran he hands across the smooth blackwood of the sheath, the golden dragon wings at the mouth and the end of the scabbard. Wrapping her hand around the hilt, she drew forth the ancient Caledorian blade.

Thinner and lighter than Zar'roc, Dragonfang was just as elegant. Colours flowed beneath the shining ithilmar and the dragon heads on the cross-guard were given red life by the muted glow of the covered forge. The runes etched on the blade shone faintly, hiding the power contained in the ancient sword. Rhunön preformed the same tests upon Dragonfang as she had on Zar'roc. She swirled the sword between her hands and sliced down at the ruined tongs. A clear ring resounded as the tongs were once again cleaved. The smith seemed satisfied and sheathed the blade.

"I have never seen the like of the blade, how came you by it?" she asked as she handed it back to him. Imrik took the sword with gratitude and buckled it back to his hip.

"It was a gift to my family seven thousand years ago during the daemon wars from Asuryan, the creator god of my people. It is said that the god of smiths, Vaul himself, worked over this blade and my armour." Responded Imrik politely. Rhunön seemed to accept this without question, which Imrik found odd. She looked back at the dragons and walked forward a step.

"Well met, Skulblaka." She said, addressing Saphira first. She then marched up to her and tapped a scale on her shoulder, turning her head to see the iridescent shades. "Good colour. Not like those brown dragons, all muddy and dark. Properly speaking, a Rider's sword should match the hue of his dragon, and this blue would have made a gorgeous blade..."

The energy visibly left the old woman. She returned to her anvil, seemingly unable to greet Gwihir. She stared at her wrecked tongs, the will to replace them vanished. After an awkward pause, Eragon spoke again.

"I've never seen the equal of your mail, not even among the dwarves. How do you have the patience to weld every link? Why don't you just use magic and save yourself the work?"

Imrik winced slightly as Rhunön turned on Eragon. She tossed her hair and passion burned in her eyes. "And rob myself of all pleasure in this task? Aye, every other elf and I could use magic to satisfy our desires – and some do – but then what meaning is there in life? How would you fill your time? Tell me."

"I don't know." Said Eragon, embarrassed.

"By pursuing that which you love the most. When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it. A lesson for you. You'll face the same dilemma one day, if you live long enough... Now begone! I am weary of this talk." With that, the smith returned to her forge, retrieving a new set of tongs to continue her work.

"Rhunön-elda, remember I will return for you on the eve of the Agaetí Blödhren." Said Arya. The old woman grunted in response.

They left back the way they had came, the ringing of steel on steel heavy in the air, like an eagle's scream in the high mountains.

"She made all the Rider's swords? Every last one?" asked Eragon, awestruck.

"That and more. She's the greatest smith who has ever lived. Thought that you should both meet her, for her sake and your own."

"Thank you." Said Eragon.

"Yes, thank you Arya, it had been enlightening."

Arya laughed suddenly and Imrik was reminded of how much she had relaxed since coming home. He smiled at the memory of the woods outside Tarnag and the jest they had shared together. Arya spoke, indicating Saphira had asked a question.

"Always. For her, nothing matters except her craft and she's famously impatient with anything – or anyone – that interferes with it. Her eccentricities are well tolerated though, because of her incredible skill and accomplishments."

Imrik nodded mutely, trying to pick apart the puzzle of the event Arya had named back at the forge. Agaetí Blödhren... Blödh was blood, so Blödhren must mean blood-oath. He could not think of Agaetí. He had no idea. He asked Arya for the meaning.

"Celebration," she explained. "We hold the Blood-oath Celebration once every century to honour our pact with the dragons. You are all fortunate to be here now, for it is nigh upon us..." She frowned, as did Imrik. "Fate has indeed arranged a most auspicious coincidence."

"Call me a goblin if this is mere chance. The gods had something to do with this." Imrik muttered. Arya, her elven ears sharper than Eragon's, caught his words and raised a slender eyebrow. Imrik shrugged, outwardly portraying indifference whereas inside he was boiling with questions and curiosity. Arya turned forward again and lead them deeper into the forest. The light around them steady decreased until they walked in darkness. The trees thickened and grew closer and closer together, pressing in on them until the dragons could hardly move between them. Imrik was about to ask Arya where she was leading them until he saw light ahead.

They entered a clearing lit by the crescent moon, its blue-white light illuminating a lone pine tree in the centre of the treeless area. It was no taller than the other trees, yet it was as thick around as a small mountain. It dwarfed them as it dwarfed the trees around it. Roots ran out from the tree like a tapestry of bark and displaced grass. It gave the impression of the forest flowing outwards from the tree, like a spring that starts the mountain river.

"Behold the Menoa tree," whispered Arya. "We observe the Agaetí Blödhren in her shade."

Eragon turned to them and recounted what Solembum had told him in Teirm. Imrik turned to the tree and scanned the massive root structure for any glint of weaponry. He saw none.

"Werecats rarely offer help, and when they do, it's not to be ignored. So far as I know, no weapon is hidden here, not even in song or legend. As for the Rock of Kuthian... the name echoes in my head like a voice from a half-forgotten dream, familiar yet strange. I've heard it before, though I cannot recall where."

They approached the tree and Imrik felt a wave of foreboding wash over him. Something important had happened here, or was going to happen soon. He didn't mention this to the others, sharing his feelings with Gwihir. The dragon looked up at the tree with a wary expression, fangs slightly bared.

"It's awake!" exclaimed Eragon suddenly, startling Imrik. "I mean ... it's intelligent." Saphira cocked her head to one side and flew up to one of the branches, which were thicker around than she was. She hung there, perched like a bird, with her tail swinging beneath her. Imrik laughed and Eragon joined in. Saphira glared at them from her seat. It was a truly peculiar sight, a dragon in a tree. Slowly, Imrik extended his thoughts towards the tree.

He was met, almost instantly with a presence so large and powerful that he was surprised he hadn't noticed it the minute they had entered the clearing. The tree emanated strength and solidity. The vast plane of its mindscape could not be fully understood by any being. It did not seem to notice his intrusion, focused as it was entirely on one task: the forest's wellbeing. Its thoughts moved apace to one of the great glaciers of the frozen wastes of Naggaroth. Imrik caught flashes of thought, a rose buss budding, aphids attacking thousands of plants, protected and herded by millions of ants. He withdrew from the mind of the tree, shocked and awed by the immense being before him.

"Oh course she's awake." Arya said, her voice was quiet and held a tone of melancholy. "Shall I tell you the story of the Menoa tree?"

"I'd like that." Replied Eragon.

"Please proceed, Princess Arya." Answered Imrik, keeping his manners.

A flash of white, like lightning, flew towards the tree and settled next to Saphira. It was Blagden. The white raven hunched his shoulders and thrust out his neck, appearing more vulture than rook. He lifted his head and shrieked and ominous cry. "_Wyrda_!"

"This is what happened. Once there lived a woman, Linnëa, in the years of spice and wine before our war with the dragons and before we became immortal as any being still composed of vulnerable flesh can be. Linnëa had grown old without the comfort of a mate or children, nor did she feel the need to seek them out, preferring to occupy herself with the art of singing to plants, of which she was a master. That is, she did until a young man came to her door and beguiled her with words of love. His affections woke a part of Linnëa that she had never suspected existed, a craving to experience the things she had unknowingly sacrificed. The offer of a second chance was too great an opportunity for her to ignore. She deserted her work and devoted herself o the young man and, for a time, they were happy.

"But the young man was young and he began to long for a mate closer to his own age. His eye fell upon a young woman and he wooed and won her. And for a time, they were happy too.

"When Linnëa discovered she had been spurned, scorned and abandoned, she went mad with grief. The young man had done the worst possible thing: he had given her a taste of the fullness of life, then torn it away with no more thought than a rooster flitting from one hen to the next. She found him with the woman and, in her fury, she stabbed him to death.

"Linnëa knew what she had done was evil. She also knew that even if she was exonerated for the murder, she could not return to her previous existence. Life had lost all joy for her. So she went to the oldest tree in Du Weldenvarden, pressed herself against it, and sang herself into the tree, abandoning all allegiance to her own race. For three days and three nights she sang and when she had finished, she had become one with her beloved plants. And through all the millennia since has she kept watch over the forest ... thus was the Menoa tree created."

By the end of Arya's story, they sat side by side of one of the tree's massive roots, twelve feet off the ground. Gwihir lay beneath them and Saphira and Blagden above them. Arya sat between Imrik and Eragon, the latter bouncing his heels like a small child. Imrik knew the story wasn't just history; it was a warning against Eragon's feelings for her. She had guessed it then, and Imrik would have to be careful to hide his own feelings deeper within himself. He could not let them interfere with his training or with Arya's life. He would not allow it, to let these confused and unknown feelings boil forth.

"Do you think that the young man was to blame for the tragedy?" Arya asked Eragon.

Imrik watched as Eragon considered his answer carefully. "I think..." he said finally, "that what he did was cruel... and that Linnëa over-reacted. They were both at fault."

Arya stared hard at him until the boy was forced to look away. Imrik averted his eyes and looked to the sky, seeking solace in the stars. "They were ill suited for each other." Said the princess.

Eragon took a minute to reply. "Perhaps." Was all he said.

Silence grew between the tree of them. Imrik was uncomfortable with breaking it, something he had not felt very often. He found himself questioning his every action to see if it held any hint of his feelings towards Arya. By the gods, how could one woman have this affect on him? He had always been so sure of himself, caring little for the thoughts of those he did not consider to be his immediate friends. And so it fell to Eragon to break the awkward nothing.

"Being at home seems to agree with you." He said.

"It does." She replied, easily picking up a fallen branch and picking off the leaves. She began to weave them into an intricate basket. Imrik looked on the work with fascination. A smile, barely noticeable, touched his lips.

"Where... where do you live? Do you an Islanzadí have a palace or castle...?" asked Eragon awkwardly.

"We live in Tialdarí Hall, our family's ancestral buildings, in the western part of Ellesméra. Imrik has visited us once already, although it was far too brief. You must both come and let me show you all of my home."

"Ah." Said Eragon. Imrik stepped in quickly.

"We would be most pleased to visit when we have time, Arya. Thank you for your offer."

"Arya, do you have any siblings?" said Eragon, his train of thought undisrupted by Imrik's words. The princess shook her head. "Then you are the sole heir to the elven throne?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?" Arya sounded bemused by the return of Eragon's questioning nature.

"I don't understand why you were allowed to become ambassador to the Varden and the dwarves, as well as ferry Saphira's egg from here to Tronjheim. It's too dangerous an errand for a princess, much less the queen-in-waiting."

"You mean it's too dangerous for a human woman. I told you before that I am not one of your helpless females. What you fail to realise is that we view our monarchs differently than you or the dwarves, or even Imrik's own people. To us, a king or queen's highest responsibility is to serve their people however and wherever possible. If that means forfeiting our lives in the process, we welcome the opportunity to prove our devotion to – as the dwarves say – hearth, hall, and honour. If I had died in the course of my duty, then a replacement successor would have been chosen from among our various Houses. Even now I would not be required to become queen if I found the prospect distasteful. We do not choose leaders who are unwilling to devote themselves wholeheartedly to their obligation." She hesitated, then pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin upon them. "I had many years to perfect those arguments with my mother."

"On Ulthuan, when the Phoenix King dies, the princes assemble after a year of mourning to elect a new king from amongst their number. Any who can claim ownership of a weapon forged for the wars against the daemons is counted as a prince. When a new king is chose, he is given to the flames of Asuryan. If he emerges un-burnt on the other side, the Phoenix Lord has accepted him and declared him free of taint. This does not mean we have bad leaders, merely that they have no evil in their hearts. The Everqueen, who rules the second throne of Ulthuan, is succeeded by the daughter born of her intercourse with the Phoenix King. Only this daughter can become Everqueen. She can take consorts and the Phoenix King is not bound to her; he can marry and have other children, though they do not inherit the crown. Thus has it been since the time of Aenarion." Imrik stood and bowed to Arya and Eragon. "Goodnight to both of you, I will take my leave. See you tomorrow at the crags, Eragon. Princess Arya." Eragon grunted in response and Arya wished him a goodnight before turning to talk to Eragon. Gwihir followed Imrik to the bottom of the root, then they made their way back to the tree house, Imrik still trying to devise a way to hide his feelings from the intuitive princess.

**A/N:**** Hey guys. Well, what did you think? Feel free to tell me with reviews! I'm sorry this chapter is so late but I had AS exam modules to do. Sorry also that I couldn't get the blood-oath into the chapter, its already nearly 11k words long and I really didn't want to write more. Right, that should do. Don't forget to review!**

**Caledor out!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**A/N: ****So, hope you all enjoyed the last chapter. I'm sorry that it may have skipped over a few important bits, but I didn't want to run past 10k words (which I did anyway). But anyway, off we go. So this chapter is mainly dealing with magic, sparring and feelings. So, without further ado, onwards!**

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own anything. Save my OC's, they are mine (unofficially).**

**High elven = bold text**

A storm was coming, Imrik could feel it. He could see the clouds rolling in and feel the wind as it shook the tree. He'd been awake all night so far, watching its progress while he thought about what to do with Arya. He had already closed the windows upstairs and sealed off the hole Gwihir used to get in using some strange fabric sheet he has discovered on the wall next to it. After that, he had sat at the window and watched the storm approach through the enchanted glass.

A dull thump told Imrik that the storm would hit soon; the thunder had started. A shiver went down his body. He was not afraid of storms, only a coward feared rain and wind. No, what made Imrik afraid was the meaning of the storm. War was coming to these lands, the likes of which had never been fought before. And Imrik was to be the cause of it. He would be the game changer. Thousands would die because of his actions. He would open Alagaësia to the High Elves and he would be remembered for what would come afterwards.

Once, he would have relished the chance for command, and some part of him still did, yet Imrik was wary now. Galbatorix must be a strong man to have defeated an army of dragons and their Riders. Could Imrik put his people against that kind of power? Could he be responsible for all the deaths the war was going to cause? He didn't know.

"An elder should lead... not some young upstart like me. I can't be responsible for this. I'll ask the Dragonlord, or Prince Tyrion. They would do better than I." He muttered to the window as the storm clouds condensed and thunder rumbled again.

"_You shall lead the force Imrik, you've always wanted command of an expedition such as this, since the moment we met you've said that. Why the sudden doubt? It is certainly not like a prince of Caledor to have doubts._" Gwihir said from his basin. His eyes were closed but he was still awake, keeping Imrik company through his night's watch.

Imrik sighed in response, which worried Gwihir even more. If he had questioned Imrik's blood like that in the past, the young elf would have snarled and attacked him with winged words over the pride of Caledor. Yet now, he was content to sigh? Something was wrong.

"It's not that I don't want it, I just don't feel that I could be responsible for all those elves, all with families and loved ones. What if I lead them back here for them all to get slaughtered by Galbatorix? How could I live with myself knowing that I brought them here to die? It was all so much easier to lead back on Ulthaun. You were always on the defensive, you fought or you died and any that died under your command fell bravely fighting for their homes. It's not like that here. They aren't fighting to defend their homes and livelihoods, their families and friends... What are they fighting for? A slim hope of a new world, a tentative promise of a safer life. Is it worth it?" Imrik sighed again and turned to face the green dragon who looked almost black in the night. "Tell me Gwihir, is it worth it?"

"_Yes, it is worth it because even if there is a slim hope for a life without Chaos, it's worth fighting for. A life without the Great Enemy would be the greatest gift to elvenkind, and you would be right to lead them here for it. Some will die, that is the nature of war. Do not take it on your conscience; it would not be your fault. Now forget these doubts and go to bed, the storm is coming and I wish to be well rested when it hits._" Gwihir grunted and tucked his head under his wing like a bird and Imrik felt the dragon's mind recede from his own.

Imrik smiled at the sight and turned back to the window. His doubts had not fully been destroyed, but he felt better than he had before. Now the only problem left to him was Arya, and how to hide his feelings for her. The princess was clever, very clever. Imrik was surprised that she hadn't worked it out already, but then he wasn't as obvious as Eragon. Maybe the boy's pathetic attempts to hide his feelings had taken most of her attention and so she hadn't had time to notice him. That, or Imrik was better at hiding his thoughts than he had previously assumed. Either way, Imrik was glad she didn't know. It could only cause pain and confusion. No, best to keep on hiding it and just act as her friend, it was the safest option and worked out the best for all.

Rain began to fall, softly at first, then heavier, beating down on the roof of the house. Imrik watched as his view of the world was marred and thrown askew. A bright flash of light caught his eye, then the deep roll of thunder shook the tree. Gwihir growled his annoyance at being kept awake. The wind increased and the tree began to sway like the deck of a ship. Imrik gritted his teeth.

"This," he spat out, "is why you don't build houses in trees." Gwihir chuckled.

For ten more minutes, Imrik watched the storm war with Ellesméra, then turned to the study. Opening the door and making himself comfortable in the chair by the desk, he pulled the small book towards him. It was written in the ancient language, but Imrik knew enough to read the title, _Wind and Rain_, which he thought was rather uninventive. But he didn't care for the title, it was the information inside that counted. Spells that detailed how to shield oneself from the majority of the wind's effects were what Imrik sought.

Imrik scrolled his index finger down the page, reading the lists of spells and effects until he found the one he wanted. He practiced saying it a few times and, once he had it memorised, he shut the book and left the study. He grabbed his lion cloak and swung it onto his shoulders.

"_I'm going to check on Eragon and Saphira. I'll be back before long._" He said as he headed for the trap door.

"_Be careful, I want you to come back intact._" Responded Gwihir. Imrik grinned and opened the hatch, descending the stairs to the front door.

Imrik slipped out of the door and shut it firmly behind him. Taking a step forward, he was nearly thrown from the tree by the sudden force of the trunk swaying towards him. Only his excellent balance kept him on his feet. Reciting the incantation to the spell he had just learnt, Imrik struggled down the stairs, one hand always on the banister for stability. When he reached the bottom, he pulled his cloak tight about him and set off into the night, the spell reducing the wind's effects so that it merely whipped about him instead of blowing him off of his feet.

He struggled through the storm, making the usually short trip to Eragon's tree house. He had just reached the stairs when a scream of pain rent the air. Imrik cursed himself for not bringing his sword and charged up the stairs, determined to rescue his friends if necessary. He burst through the doorway and was confronted with Saphira's bright blue bulk trying to force her head up a narrow passage in the house.

"Saphira! Saphira what happened? Where is Eragon?" Imrik called to her. She ceased her struggles and began to pull backwards, only to discover that her head was stuck.

"_Help me, Imrik! Eragon has had an attack and is upstairs in the study. Free me, I'm stuck." _Saphira was distraught. Imrik sent a mental nod then began to pull on her neck, trying to dislodge her from the stairway.

It took them three tries but eventually her head came free. Imrik patted her snout then took the stairs two at a time to the study door. He opened it cautiously, for he didn't know where Eragon had fallen. He stuck his head into the room and looked around. Eragon was curled into a ball beside the window. A strip of cloth covered the opening like the one back at Imrik's tree. Imrik rushed to his fallen friend, putting a hand to his head and murmuring in high elven; prayers to the gods for Eragon's health.

"Why? Why this curse...?" he asked himself as he slowly picked up Eragon and began carrying him down to his bed. Saphira shuffled backwards as Imrik emerged but came as close as she could when Imrik laid the boy on the bed.

"_Why has your god done this to him, Imrik? We _are _one, dragon and Rider, how much more can your god demand? He's so small..._" Saphira questioned Imrik as she flicked her tongue over Eragon's face. He stirred slightly but did not wake.

"_I do not know, Saphira. There must be a reason why Asuryan has made him suffer as such; he is not a cruel god. When the time comes, his plans will be made known to us, not before. It is not for the likes of us to command the Lord of the Heavens..." _They sat in silence for a while, then Imrik turned back to the dragon. _"I cannot stay, for I must return to Gwihir. Goodnight Saphira._" Imrik said, raising himself from his perch on the bed and starting towards the door.

"_Goodnight Imrik. Tell Gwihir... tell him he has not been forgotten._"

Imrik nodded his head and withdrew, making the trek back to his tree.

He awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and invigorated. He wondered at this, considering he had had very little sleep the previous night, but decided not to question it too much; it wasn't doing him any harm after all. He sprang from his bed and went to wash himself in the shower, humming as he did so. After he had finished washing and drying, he dressed in one of the Alagaësian tunics and his travelling leggings.

He was about to return the membrane to its proper place when he felt another mind touch his. Instantly, his defences sprang into action and blocked the aggressor from his thoughts. He waited, identifying the presence, before allowing Oromis to touch his mind.

"_Well done Imrik, your reactions are impressive. Bring your sword with you today._" The old elf spoke.

"_Should I dress for battle?_" Imrik asked, inquisitive.

"_No, just bring your sword._" replied Oromis after a pause. Imrik sent a mental confirmation then withdrew from the contact.

After replacing the cloth membrane and belting on his sword, Imrik mounted Gwihir and they flew out over the tree-city. Imrik looked out across the field of trees, assessing the damage the storm had caused. Nothing had fallen inside the city or close by, but further out where the elven presence was weaker, many of the great pines had come crashing down. The remainder creaked and wailed, as if lamenting their fallen brethren.

Gwihir and Imrik shared their memories of the previous day's lessons, making sure that they knew everything and were ready to answer any questions. Although they had maintained a greater link than Eragon and Saphira, Oromis had still been displeased with their lack of knowledge regarding what the other had been doing.

When they landed, Glaedr was waiting on the Crags for them. Oromis was nowhere to be seen.

"_Greetings young ones, how did you fare last night?_" the great golden dragon rumbled into their minds like the thunder from the previous night.

"_We fared well, thank you... Master. The same cannot be said for Eragon however, he suffered an attack during the night._" Imrik replied.

"_A pity, he would have enjoyed today otherwise. Still, training must commence even in the face of such pain. Tell me, how would you identify and avoid a downdraft?_" the dragon asked, swinging his head towards them. Imrik grinned and gave the answer Gwihir had taught him, which seemed to pass the test.

"And you Gwihir, how many chicks does the falcon in the glade have?" Oromis asked, emerging from his hut. Gwihir replied appropriately and the old elf smiled. "Well done both of you, you have learnt to share."

At that moment Eragon and Saphira came into view. Her scales glittered in the morning sun and Imrik was reminded of the prediction he had made prior to the battle of Farthen Dûr; that she would one day out shine the Star Dragons. Eragon, however, looked like the living dead. His face was gaunt and his eyes screwed up. Imrik felt a pang of guilt over the pain Eragon was suffering, but showed no outward sign of his emotions. When they landed, Oromis and Glaedr quizzed them in much the same way they had with Gwihir and Imrik. Then they separated, the dragons flying off and leaving the two elves and Eragon to train. Imrik kept a close link with Gwihir, hoping to help control and quell the fire that burned within him as well as learn from his lessons.

"Eragon, Imrik has told me your back caused you pain last night. You have my sympathy for this." Turning to Imrik, he said, "Go to glade and listen. When you hear no more, come and tell me what you have learnt."

"Yes... Master." Imrik said, his pride pricked at being sent to the forest while Eragon and Oromis practised swordplay.

He stalked towards the woods, listening faintly to Gwihir being taught about using the weather in combat. When he reached the stump in the clearing, he sighed and opened his mind, slowly expanding the breadth of his touch until he could feel the life inside the woods. He smiled as he inspected the falcon nest and found that the two chicks were both whole and healthy. He turned his focus away from them and towards his task of being aware of everything in the glade. He sighed and listened, although he knew he was not grasping the full extent of the exercise. He sat thus for hours, listening to everything, before his patience wore thin and he walked back to the hut, meeting Eragon on the way.

"Just as well, I didn't want to interrupt you." said the boy with a grunt.

"What happened Eragon? You are not usually this gruff." Imrik inquired.

"My back hurt again... Imrik, whatever plan your god has for me, I hope he leaves me out of his next one." Eragon said bitterly.

"Eragon." Imrik said, taking his friend by the shoulder and looking him in the eyes. "If I had to make the choice again, I would still call upon Asuryan's power. He is above mortals and I don't think we could comprehend his plans even if they were revealed to us. I am truly sorry that you suffer such pain on my account; the guilt pains me every time you have these attacks. But you must carry on, because only be training will you become one with Saphira. Then all shall be made clear for us... I hope."

"I hope so too. Good luck against Oromis, he's good." Eragon smiled faintly.

Imrik laughed and set off again. When he reached the hut where Oromis dwelt, he saw the old elf standing like a statue, looking out at the sun. As Imrik approached, Oromis turned to face him. His sword was at his side, sheathed.

"Well Imrik? What have you learnt today?" asked the old Rider.

"That there is far too much in that clearing for me to listen too at once. I cannot know all that happens there without focusing on one animal or plant, and then I have failed. It is infuriating." replied Imrik in a rather brusque voice. Oromis raised an eyebrow.

"You still do not grasp the point of the exercise?"

"No, I do not."

"Then you must try harder. I will accept no flaws from you Imrik, for you are an elf and shall be judged be elven standards." Oromis said sternly. "Now draw thy blade and be on your guard! Let us see if your arrogance is well grounded."

Imrik grinned and drew Dragonfang, watching as Oromis dulled his blade with a muttered spell. Imrik approached and held out his own blade and Oromis did the same for him, Imrik filing away the words for later use. Imrik then retreated and took up his guard. The dance began.

Imrik knew that he had to utilize all of his skill and speed in order to keep up with Oromis. While he was old, he still maintained the enormous strength of his race and the graceful speed of the elves. However, Imrik had expected this and was compensating for it, using the same method of fighting that he had used against Arya; deflect and move, parry and strike. He kept the older elf at bay, stopping or dodging every blow. His own attacks were met with the same response, though he did catch Oromis out with a sweep to the legs after ducking a vicious swipe.

They sparred for just under an hour before Oromis called a halt to the match. He removed his spell from his own sword, then did the same for Imrik's. Oromis moved to the stream to bathe and Imrik joined him in the water, wishing to rid himself of the sweat that was coating his limbs.

"You are indeed an extraordinary swordsman, Imrik. Your speed is unparalleled amongst all the warriors I have seen. You are the first student to hit me in all my years as a teacher. Yet you do not have the strength to compete with the native elves of Alagaësia. In an enclosed space, such as a corridor or a small room, you would be overcome be superior strength. You must find a way to best this weakness before it becomes the death of you." said Oromis after they were dry and clothed, sitting outside his hut in the sun.

"All things must die, it is the nature of the world." replied Imrik before sipping his water, which he held loosely in his right hand. "But I do not intend to be killed before my time. I am not used to fighting in enclosed spaces, it is true. Most of my fights involve pitched battles on large plains and while I have laid siege to cities, I have never had to fight in a corridor against someone of greater strength than I."

Oromis nodded and took a drink. "Eragon will be returning soon. Come." He led the way back into the hut and began to lay out a meal. Imrik stood at the door and looked out across the forest. Sure enough, within minutes of Oromis saying so, Eragon came wandering back through the trees. Imrik beckoned him and slipped inside.

When Eragon entered, Oromis looked up from putting bowls of vegetable stew of the table and asked, "How went it?"

"Master," Eragon sighed, "I could listen night and day for the next twenty years and still not know everything that goes on in the forest."

Oromis raised an eyebrow at the boy as Imrik nursed his cup of water, his pride stung. He could do better than a human, couldn't he? "You have made progress." said Oromis. Eragon then went on to describe all that he had learnt about the ants. "But still not enough, I fear" said Oromis after Eragon had finished. "You must work harder, Eragon. I know you can. You are intelligent and persistent, and you have potential to be a great Rider. I have spoken to Imrik already on the subject, for he also is making too little progress. As difficult as it is," he said, turning to face both Imrik and Eragon at the same time, "you both must try to put aside your troubles and find peace within yourself. From this, concentration will come and your abilities will flow from you."

"I'm doing my best." said Eragon, with a slight whine.

"No, this isn't your best. We shall see your best when it appears." Oromis paused, as if struck by a sudden thought. "Perhaps it would help if you had another to compete with. I would suggest Imrik, but I sense this would be unwise... I will think on the matter."

Oromis served the meal, which consisted of warm bread, hazelnut butter and vegetable stew. Imrik saw Eragon's look of distaste and silently agreed. Arya had explained to him why Alagaësian elves didn't eat meat, but that did not mean that he didn't long to taste it again.

"Master, why do we have to meditate? Is it so that we will understand the doings of the animals and insects, or is there more to it than that?" Eragon asked.

"There must be. What use could learning what goes on in one clearing be when there are thousands, if not millions of clearings out in the forest that all operate in a different way." said Imrik in response.

"Can neither of you think of another reason?" Oromis asked. Eragon shook his head. Imrik thought about what he had been asked to do, trying to divine its inner meaning. Learning what went on in the clearing relied on stretching out the mind and touching everything in the space, learning everything, seeing all. Suddenly it all clicked into place, where this practise could be useful.

"Imrik, you have an answer?" Oromis asked politely. Imrik nodded.

"If we can use our minds to learn the thoughts of those around us, we could be safe walking through a city without having to look over one's shoulder to check for assassins; we could simply learn their thoughts and intensions before they can carry them out."

"Correct. Well done Imrik-finiarel, your mind is sharper than I had given you credit for." Imrik bristled at the insult but Oromis had already moved on. "Do you now understand, Eragon?"

"But isn't it dangerous to leave your consciousness unguarded? If you're attacked mentally, you could easily be overwhelmed."

"Is it better to have your visor down and ride blind or have it up and avoid the blow?" Imrik said. Eragon shrugged.

"It feels wrong." said Eragon in a small voice.

"Oh? Explain yourself." Oromis said, putting his fingertips together.

"What about people's privacy? Brom taught me never to intrude in someone's mind unless it was absolutely necessary... I guess I am uncomfortable with the idea of prying into people's secrets ... secrets that they have every right to keep to themselves." He cocked his head with an inquisitive expression. "Why didn't Brom tell me about this if it's so important? Why didn't he train me in it himself?"

"Brom told you what it was appropriate to tell you under the circumstances." said Oromis, "Dipping into the pool of minds can be addictive to those with a malicious personality or a taste for power. It was not taught to prospective Riders – though we had them meditate throughout their training – until we were convinced that they were mature enough to resist temptation. It is an invasion of privacy, and you will learn many things that you did not want to. However, this is for your own good and for the good of the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Rider's experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you understand what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion, even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city in Alagaësia."

They were silent for a long while, eating, before Oromis asked "Can either of you tell me, what is the most important mental tool a person can possess?"

Imrik thought about the question. On the battlefield, determination, guile and nerve were key to success. Being able to analyse the ebb and flow of conflict was also something that was required in a good general. In court, cunning and intelligence were required so that you didn't look foolish. The tide of elven politics could shift suddenly and violently, and those caught unprepared often had their reputation destroyed. The link between the two was analysis of the situation. Analytical thinking must be the most useful tool one could posses.

"Determination." answered Eragon as Imrik reached his own conclusion.

"I can understand why you arrived at that conclusion – determination has served you well on your adventures – but no. I meant the tool most necessary to choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those who are brilliant intellects. So no, determination cannot be what we're looking for."

This conformed Imrik's thinking and so he gave his answer. "Analytical thinking and reasoning; logic, to be short."

"Correct, Imrik. That is the third time you have surprised me today. I shall take care not to underestimate you again." Oromis tore a loaf of bread in half.

"But Master, surely having a good heart is more important than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically wrong, whereas if you are moral and righteous, that will ensure that you don't act shamefully." protested Eragon.

A thin smile stretched across Oromis's lips. "You confuse the issue, Eragon. All I wanted to know was the most useful _tool_ a person could have, regardless of whether that person is good or evil."

"A sword is a guarding shield or a hammer of destruction, depending on the wielder. Its nature and function change, but it's still just a sword, just a tool." interrupted Imrik, trying to make Eragon understand using simpler and more militaristic language.

"Just so," continued Oromis, "Too many problems have been caused by men with noble dispositions and clouded minds. History provides us numerous examples of people who were convinced they were doing the right thing and committing terrible crimes because of it. Keep in mind, Eragon, that no one thinks of himself as a villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may dislike his choices, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst circumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at the time.

"On its own, being a decent person has no guarantee that you will act well, which brings us back to the one protection we have against demagogues, tricksters, and the madness of the crowns, and our surest guide through the uncertain shoals of life: clear and reasoned thinking. Logic will never fail you, unless you are unaware – or deliberately ignore – the consequences of your deeds."

"If elves are so logical," Said Eragon, "then you must all agree on what to do."

"Hardly," replied Oromis wryly, "Like every race we adhere to a wide range of tenets and, as a result, we often arrive at differing conclusions, even in identical situations. I assume that your people are the same, Imrik?" Imrik nodded yes and Oromis continued, "Conclusions, I might add, that make logical sense from each person's point of view. And although I wish it were otherwise, not all elves have trained their minds properly."

"How do you intend to teach me this logic?" asked Eragon with what sounded like a mix of interest and confusion.

Oromis grinned and Imrik smiled at the delight on the old elf's face. "By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will ask you a question, then you will answer and defend your position." Eragon refilled his bowl with stew and Imrik took a drink, then Oromis asked the question Imrik had though he would use. "For example, why do you fight the Empire?"

Eragon looked momentarily stunned then gathered his wits. "As I said before, to help those who suffer from Galbatorix's rule and, to a lesser extent, for personal vengeance."

"Then you fight for humanitarian reasons?"

"What do you mean?"

"That you fight to help the people who Galbatorix has harmed and to stop him from hurting any more."

"Exactly," respond Eragon, smiling.

"Ah, but answer me this, my young Rider: Won't your war with Galbatorix cause more pain than it will ever prevent? The majority of people in the Empire live normal, productive live untouched by their king's madness. How can you justify invading their lands, destroying their homes and killing their sons and daughters?"

Eragon looked aghast and appeared not to be able to speak, so Imrik took his cue and spoke for him. "Because if evil is allowed to endure then the ruin of all will come to pass. The Asur understand this, for to prevent the rise of Chaos, many pains must be suffered upon the innocent that we seek to protect. Galbatorix does not strike me as the type of human to stop when there are still enemies to fight and lands to be taken. He is simply biding his time, gathering his strength and training his armies. He forges alliances, as we saw at Farthen Dûr, alliances that have only one purpose, to crush those who oppose him. If he is not killed, then the people of the Empire will know war without end until all elves, dwarves and Urgals are either killed or bend their knee in subservience to Galbatorix. Thus, the war must go on, even if half the citizens of the Empire must die for it." He spoke in an emotionless voice, for he took no pleasure in what he said, although he knew it was true.

If anything, Eragon looked more appalled than he had to begin with. Imrik looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Do you deny that I am right?"

"You would condemn thousands of innocents to death just to accomplish a goal?" the boy asked, horrified.

"Yes, I would. That is the cost of victory against the Dark Powers." Imrik returned to his stew and Eragon fumed next to him, glaring at him with hurt and anger in his eyes. "Have I upset you, Eragon-finiarel?" Imrik asked without looking round.

"Yes you have."

"Then when you have a better way to defeat the forces of darkness, you must enlighten me."

The tension in the hut was palpable after that. Eragon would occasionally look up from the runes he was writing and stare at Imrik until the elf raised his head and stared back at him, daring him to challenge his view and Eragon would frown with hurt and disgust before returning to his work. It went on like this for hours until Oromis had them stop. He handed Eragon five scrolls and Imrik two. "Two of these are written in the ancient language, three are in your own language. They will help you to maser both alphabets, as well as give you valuable information that would be tedious for me to vocalise."

"Vocalise?" Asked Eragon.

Oromis picked a heavy-looking scroll from the wall and placed it on top of the pyramid in Eragon's arms. "That is a dictionary. I doubt you can, but try to read it all." The old elf turned to Imrik. "Imrik, because you are the first of your kind to have encountered us, we have no knowledge of your language. One of the scrolls I have given you contains a dictionary of the ancient language which translates the words into the human tongue, the other is blank. If you would find it useful, you can translate the dictionary into your own language. It may help to further the bond between our peoples if we can speak the other's language."

"Thank you... Master, I shall begin work on the process as soon as I am able."

Oromis walked to the door and held it open for them to leave. Eragon began to go but then stopped and turned to Oromis. "Master?"

"Yes Eragon?"

"When will we start working with magic?"

Oromis lent heavily against the doorframe and Imrik wondered if he would collapse. Then he sighed and said, "You must both trust me to guide your training. Still, I suppose it would be foolish of me to delay any longer. Come, leave the scrolls on the table, and let us explore the mysteries of gramarye."

Eragon grinned and moved back into the hut to deposit his scrolls then bounded out after Oromis, seemingly forgetting about Imrik. Imrik placed his scrolls carefully on a chair and went out to join them. Oromis was standing facing out across the Crags with his hands clasped behind his back. Imrik moved to stand behind him, not far enough away for them to be considered avoiding contact, but not too close to the boy either. Eragon looked over at him, caught his eye, then returned to facing forward, his grin gone.

"What is magic?" asked Oromis.

"The manipulation of energy through the use of the ancient language," answered Eragon.

"Magic does not require the ancient language, it is simply the method by which energy is stored, transferred and changed. Magic is power, pure and condensed into a workable force." answered Imrik after Eragon.

"You are both correct, although you fail to capture the essence of magic. Magic, as we understand it, is the art of thinking, not strength or language – you both already know that a limited vocabulary is no obstacle to using magic. As with everything else you must master, magic relies on having a disciplined mind. Brom bypassed the normal training regimen and ignored the subtleties of gramarye to ensure you had the skills you needed to remain alive, Eragon. Likewise, I'm sure Imrik's own tuition in the magical arts here was both brief and blunt, having been delivered on the eve of battle by yourself and Arya. However Imrik, your mind is more focused than I had expected, though that may be due to your skill as a warrior. Have you ever been taught magic before?"

"I showed an aptitude, so I was sent to the White Tower of Hoeth to be instructed, however I was not meant to be a mage. I could not learn much of the lore of magic, save for the element of fire. My tutors grew increasing frustrated and we argued constantly. Finally, I left to take up my true destiny as a warrior," replied Imrik.

"As I thought. Now, we must begin your training in gramarye. I too must distort the regimen in order to focus on the skills that you will both need in the coming battles. I will teach you more than the crude mechanics of magic and focus instead on its finer applications, the secrets reserved for the wisest of the Riders: how you can kill with no more energy than moving your finger, the method by which you can instantaneously transport an item from one point to another, a spell that will allow you to identify poisons in your food and drink, a variation on scrying that allows you to hear as well as see, how you can draw energy from your surroundings and thus preserve your own strength, and how you can maximise your strength in every possible way.

"These techniques are so potent and dangerous, they were never shared with novice Riders such as yourselves, but circumstances demand that I divulge them and trust you won't abuse them." Oromis raised his right arm and formed a claw with his hand. "Adurna!" he exclaimed.

Imrik watched two spheres of water rise from the stream by the hut then glide effortlessly through the air until they hovered, side by side, beneath Oromis's fingers.

Oromis was still watching the horizon when he said "Catch," and tossed the balls back over his shoulder, one at Eragon, the other at Imrik.

"Kodthr!" said Imrik, remembering the word for catch and holding out his palm. Eragon tried to grab the ball of water and ended up soaked with water.

"Catch it with magic," Oromis said to Eragon. "Well done Imrik, though a little vague. Again, adurna!"

This time, both of them caught the ball with magic, Imrik refining his wording so that it was specific and yet loosely phrased so that if the ball was moving faster than expected, it wouldn't drain him too much. He understood the danger of using an absolute command well. Eragon whispered a word in the ancient language and the ball he had caught went whizzing back towards Oromis. Before Imrik could react, the ball had slowed and reversed course before slamming into Eragon's head and knocking him over. Oromis turned to the noise of Imrik chuckling.

"Whatever are you doing? Get up. We can't lay about all day."

"Yes Master," groaned Eragon and Imrik chuckled again. The boy rose and glared at him. Imrik stared back with indifference before they both focussed on Oromis again.

The rest of the afternoon was spent practising various forms of magic. They manipulated water, contorted it into knots, froze it and changed the colours of light which flowed through it. Imrik was beginning to get impatient by this time, the lack of knowledge he had learnt today frustrated him greatly, however it was this lack of knowledge that held him from rebelling, for what good was saying you knew this if you knew nothing else. And, Imrik thought wryly, knowing Oromis there was some greater meaning to this exercise.

"Master, I know all of this. Can we not move on?" asked Eragon. Imrik was not surprised by the boy's impertinence, but Oromis's reaction did surprise him.

Oromis's neck tensed and his shoulders turned to hard granite in their look. His breathing hitched, before he said, "Will you never learn respect, Eragon-vodhr? So be it!" Then the old elf spoke four words in the ancient language in a voice so deep that Imrik could not guess their meaning.

Eragon yelped in surprise. His lower legs appeared to have been paralyzed, yet the rest of his body maintained movement.

"Free yourself," said Oromis to Eragon. Imrik now saw the point in his spell. It was a test; not only of Eragon's strength, but of his common sense with magic. It was also to show him that without patience, his learning would suffer. Imrik was now glad he hadn't spoken out in such a way.

Eragon thought for a few moments, then uttered a spell to release his calves. A few moments later and he was free. He staggered before regaining his balance.

"Foolish, very foolish," said Oromis, shaking his head as he did so. "If I had committed more to maintaining my spell, that would have killed you. Never use absolutes."

"Absolutes?" Eragon questioned.

"Never word your spells so that only two outcomes are possible: success or death. If an enemy had trapped your legs, and if he were stronger than you, then you would have expended all of your energy trying to break his spell. You would have died with no chance to abort the attempt once you realised that it was futile."

"How do I avoid that?" asked Eragon.

"It's safer to make the spell a process that you can terminate at your discretion. Are you listening to this, Imrik? You must know this too. Instead of saying release my calves, which is an absolute, you could say reduce the magic imprisoning my calves. A bit wordy, but you could then decide how much you wanted your opponent's spell decreased and if it were safe to remove entirely. We will try again."

Eragon was again immobilised but Imrik noticed a change come over Oromis. His face was desperate, as if he were clinging to a loved one to stop them slipping away from him. A vein in his head throbbed. Then he recoiled as if he had been stung. He fixed his gaze on his hands, drawing deep breaths. He stood thus for a minute, then straightened and walked to the edge of the Crags, his thin figure a lonely spear of shadow against the setting sun.

Imrik cast a glance at Eragon, hoping the boy understood that cost of his arrogance. He then walked to join Oromis on the edge of the cliff. He stopped just behind him and bowed his head in respect. He heard Eragon's footsteps behind him and saw the boy kneel in the dwarven fashion behind Oromis.

"Ebrithil, I beg your pardon."

Oromis did not respond.

They remained thus, the three of them, as the sun waned and the birds began the night song. The heat of the day vanished to be replaced by dusk's cool embrace and from the north, wing beats heralded the return of the dragons.

"We will begin anew tomorrow, with this and other subjects," said Oromis in a low, vacant voice. His posture showed Imrik that he now had complete mastery of is facial expressions once more. "Is that agreeable to you both?"

"Yes, Master," replied Eragon.

"Of course, Ebrithil," answered Imrik.

"I think it best if, from now on, you both endeavour to speak only in the ancient language. We have little time at our disposal and this is the fastest way for you to learn."

"Even when we speak with our dragons?" asked Imrik.

"Even then."

Eragon adopted the ancient language then said, "Then I will work ceaselessly until I not only think, but dream, in your language."

"As will I," added Imrik, also in the ancient language.

"If you achieve that," replied Oromis in the same tongue, "our venture may yet succeed." He paused for a moment. "Eragon, instead of flying directly here in the morning, you will accompany the elf I send to guide you. He will take you to where those of Ellesméra practise swordplay. Stay for an hour, then continue on as normal."

"Won't you teach us yourself?" asked the boy, his tone offended.

"I have naught to teach. You are both as good a swordsmen as ever I have met. I know no more of fighting than either of you, and that which I possess and you do not, I cannot give you. All that remains for you both is to preserve your current levels of skill."

"Why can't we do that with you...Master?"

"Because I do not appreciate beginning the day with alarum and conflict." He turned to look at Eragon, then relented and added, "And because it will be good for you to become acquainted with others who live here. I am not representative of my race. But enough of that. Look, they approach."

The three dragons soared across the skyline, then glided in to land. Glaedr was first, his massive form filling the sky before he landed and folded his great golden wings. Gwihir and Saphira alighted behind him, agile as hunting birds.

As in the morning, Glaedr and Oromis tested them all on their knowledge of the other's lessons. Imrik and Gwihir had not always been in contact, but they shared their information well and answered every question. They were hindered slightly by their unfamiliarly with the ancient language, as were Saphira and Eragon, but overall their teachers seemed pleased.

"_Better,"_ rumbled Glaedr after they had answered the last question. "_Much better."_ He bent his gaze to Eragon and Imrik. "_We will have to train together soon."_

"Of course, Skulblaka."

"Certainly, Ebrithil."

The old dragon snorted and limped along beside Oromis, his missing limb forcing his unnatural gait. Quick as a hawk, Saphira darted forward and nipped at the end of Glaedr's tail, tossing it high into the air. She recoiled as Glaedr twisted around and snapped at her neck, exposing his long, gleaming fangs.

Imrik covered his ears, but it offered no protection from the savage roar that followed. The speed and ferocity of Glaedr's response suggested that Saphira had been annoying him all day. And Imrik predicted the next action perfectly. Gwihir growled low in his throat but otherwise remained stationary.

"Contain yourself, Saphira!" said Oromis. Saphira pranced back like a puppy baiting an older dog into playing with it. Imrik spared Gwihir a look of pity, but the dragon refused to meet his eye and closed his mind from him. Eragon muttered a feeble excuse and Oromis dismissed them. "Begone, all of you."

Gwihir grunted, leapt in front of Saphira, grabbed Imrik in his talons and swept off the Crags, almost batting her with his tail as he swept past her. He flew swiftly back to the tree, whereupon he would not to even talk to Imrik and, when Eragon, Saphira and Arya came to invite them to Tialdarí Hall, he point blank refused to even see the blue dragon. Imrik patted him on the snout and left him to his feelings. There was little he could do when his friend was like this. His mood was worse than before.

As they walked the route that Imrik had used to find the hall before, they encountered many of Arya's people, all of whom stopped to bow before Saphira. Imrik focussed on reminding himself of the consequences of his actions around the princess, for her finding out of his attraction to her would be the death of their friendship.

"There are no elven children in sight, where are they?" asked Eragon.

"Aye, we have few children," replied Arya, "Only two are in Ellesméra at the present, Dusan and Alanna. We treasure children above all else because they are so rare. To have a child is the greatest honour and responsibility that can be bestowed upon any living being. It is the same on Ulthuan I imagine?"

"Similar, although we have more children than you. Yet you do not have the wars we fight, your cities are not left barren and empty, your bustling markets populated by foreigners." His voice turned bitter and he turned his face away.

"Forgive me, Imrik-vodhr, I did not mean to upset you," said Arya with sadness in her voice.

Imrik nodded his head in response. He was not truly in the mood for talk now, what with the anger of Gwihir and Eragon, his own containment of feelings towards Arya and now being reminded of his people's encroaching extinction. His mood began to blacken as they approached the hall and entered into the vast garden. By the time they had reached the main hall, Imrik's face had soured into a grimace.

"**Imrik! What's got you so upset? Did the mighty prince of Caledor stub his toe**?" Lutheni's teasing voice broke Imrik out of his mood. He was surprised to see her here of all places.

"**What are you doing here, Lutheni**?" he asked, confused momentarily.

"Princess Arya has been kind enough to let both Orik and myself stay in her home during our visit. I think I can guess the purpose of your coming. Hello Eragon, Saphira, it is good to see you both again. Lady Arya." Lutheni smiled and bowed her head, which made Imrik suspicious. Something's not right here, he thought. "Would you mind awfully if I borrowed Imrik for a few minutes, I need to talk to him."

"Not at all, Lady Lutheni. Afterwards, you are welcome to accompany us on our tour of the hall, if you would wish?"

"I would love to. We'll be back shortly."

She took Imrik by the hand and led him across the hall. Here it comes, Imrik thought. They moved out of ear shot of even Arya before Lutheni turned on him. She spoke in High Elven so that only they would know what was being said.

"What's wrong? You either tell me or I will beat it out of you. I don't like seeing you in your black moods. Tell me what's wrong so I can help."

"You're a frustratingly insightful person, you realise that, don't you?" he told her in the same language.

"Answer the question Imrik," she said, her stubbornness showing before she softened her voice slightly, "Have we not been friends for years now? Tell me your woes."

Imrik sighed heavily. "Gwihir is angry with Saphira because she will not so much as look at him while Glaedr is around. He won't let me into his mind to help him, yet his anger still flows into my mind. It doesn't help that her behaviour annoys me anyway, because I don't like seeing Gwihir upset. Then Eragon is angry at me because I have made sacrifices in war that he considers immoral. He doesn't understand that to save millions of innocents, a few must die. Such is the nature of our war, of every war! Yet he does not see it so, and he believes me to be a monster. There are other things, but I would keep them to myself. They are not the sort of troubles that you can help with."

"Imrik, you need to rise above these...irritations. I can understand your anger at Saphira for upsetting Gwihir, but that is a problem that they need to resolve. I'm sure the time will come when Glaedr is not so wonderful to Saphira. Surely he is irritated by her?"

"He is."

"Then there is still hope for Gwihir. Glaedr will not mate with Saphira, he is above such a thing."

"Gwihir will not see it that way."

"Then he is also at fault. Give him some time, and things will work out for him. As will your conflict with Eragon. He does not strike me as one to bear a grudge. In time, when he understands the true nature of war, he will realise what you said was wisdom, and will beg your forgiveness."

Imrik sighed again and turned away from Lutheni. "I hope you're right, my friend."

"Even if I am not, you will still have me." She smiled faintly as he turned back to her. He smiled back and clapped her shoulder.

"I'm glad I do. Thank you Lutheni, for all you've done for me." He pulled her in for a quick embrace, then turned back towards where the tour group would be waiting. "Come! I would see the rest of this hall."

"Yes, of course." Said Lutheni from behind him.

They strode back towards Arya, Eragon and Saphira, Imrik's spirits lightened considerably. They were quite happy for the rest of the tour, marvelling at every room on their journey and how each was incorporated into the forest. In one room, a nest of wild fowl nested in the corner beneath a window. Imrik could hear the calls of the chicks within. In another, a small stream flowed down the wall of bark and across the pebble-strewn floor until it emerged under the sky again.

They saw numerous works of art, painting and statues, fairths and mosaics using stained glass. In all the pieces, animals and forest shapes were the focal point and obvious inspiration. Imrik wondered if the halls of the wood elves in the Old World would bear any similarities to these.

They met with the queen for a short time in a courtyard between two buildings. She inquired into the progress of both Imrik's and Eragon's training, to which both answered in short, polite phrases. She spoke with Saphira and expressed her sadness at Gwihir's refusal to come. After asking Lutheni if she was comfortable and had everything she wished, Islanzadí departed.

They ended the tour in the garden, Eragon and Arya walking slightly ahead of Imrik and Lutheni. Saphira trailed behind them, swishing her tail slightly as she tried to avoid the flower beds. Imrik was glad that Lutheni had spoken to him this evening; for she had lightened his mood and helped him shoulder is burdens.

"**I apologise, Lutheni, for not coming to see you sooner. I have neglected you as a friend," **he said softly.

"**You are forgiven, Imrik. I know you are busy with your training and I have not been totally alone. Orik and I have spent time in each other's company, but it is not the same,**" she replied in the same tone.

"**I know, and I shall visit you more often to compensate for my lack of thought,**" he said.

"**I would like that,**" she replied, smiling. Imrik smiled back.

Ahead of them, Arya and Eragon had stopped next to a pond. A tree grew by the edge, and around the lowest branches of the tree a morning glory with three black velvet blossoms, their petals clenched shut for the night. Imrik and Lutheni moved to stand just behind the other two as Arya blew on one of the flowers and whispered in the ancient language, "Open."

The petals unfurled with a slight whisper, exposing their nectar rich centres. The bright yellow was surrounded by a deep shade of blue which defused into the inky blackness. It reminded Imrik of a sight he had seen but once before, when the lesser moon was hidden by cloud and the greater hung above the ocean at dusk as the blue of the sky and sea settled into the darkness of night. It warmed his heart to be reminded of that evening by a simple flower.

"Is it not the most perfect and lovely flower?" asked Arya.

"Yes...it is," said Eragon, then added, "as are you."

Imrik struggled to keep him face straight and his emotions in check. A sudden jealousy swarmed within his heart, something he had to suppress with all his might so prevent himself speaking. Lutheni looked shocked at Eragon's forthrightness, but quickly hid her feelings as Eragon looked increasing embarrassed.

"You are too kind," murmured Arya with no hint of rebuke in her voice. This more than anything surprised Imrik after what she had said at the Menoa tree. "Fäolin created this especially for me one summer solstice, long ago."

Eragon shuffled his feat and cast his head around, mumbling incoherently. Imrik was tempted to take him by the shoulder and drag him out before he dug himself a hole from which he could not escape. However, Eragon straightened and said, "Please excuse us, Arya Svit-kona, but it is late and we must return to our tree."

"Of course, Eragon. I understand," she guided them back to the main archway and opened the doors form them to leave by. "Will you also be departing, Prince Imrik?"

"I think I must, Princess Arya. Goodnight, thank you for your hospitality. Goodnight Lutheni, I will see you on the morrow if you should wish?" Imrik said with politeness in the ancient language.

"I will meet you at your tree. Goodnight Imrik," replied Lutheni with a smile. Her knowledge of the ancient language had improved, noted Imrik.

"Goodnight, Saphira. Goodnight Eragon," said Arya as Imrik moved through the gateway.

"Will we see you tomorrow?" asked Eragon.

"I think I shall be busy tomorrow." Then Imrik heard the doors shut.

When Imrik returned to the tree, he found Gwihir's mood had not lightened in his absence. He tried once more to talk to his dearest friend, but was met with a wall of stone. He sighed, patted the dragon's flank and got into bed. He was getting ready to fall asleep when Gwihir touched his mind.

"_I'm sorry for acting so hostile to you Imrik, I know you are my friend, but I cannot deal with this anger for much longer. Saphira's devotion to Glaedr eclipses me constantly and it wounds me deeply to be ignored by her. She barely speaks with me at all in training. This jealousy is overcoming me._"

"_I know how you feel my friend; I take no insult from your anger. But take heart, Saphira gave me a message last night. She told me to tell you that you haven't been forgotten. Keep faith Gwihir, and try to see that Glaedr is the first older dragon she has met. She never got the opportunity to play with you; we were always so focused on war. Now she has someone new to learn about, someone of her own race. Try not to feel so jealous, she will calm down soon enough._"

"_I hope you are right Imrik, although you seem to believe it._"

"_Go to sleep Gwihir, we are training again tomorrow._"

"_Goodnight little prince._"

Imrik put his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a long minute, then closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, Imrik felt tired. His sleep had brought him little rest and his dreams had been haunted by a fire that consumed him, then gave birth to him and dropped him into a nest of bristling spears. He did not know what it meant, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. When he was washed and dressed, he took his spear from where he had left it and opened the trapdoor, intent on finding out where the training fields were and swinging the ancient heirloom about him a few times. He had a few ideas he wanted to try out using the blade of his spear instead of the point.

He was surprised to find Lutheni at the bottom of his tree, waiting for him with axe in hand. He then remembered that she had said that she would visit him today. She turned as he came down the stairs and smiled at him.

"I was going to train with Orik, but he appears to have contracted a headache. Would you wish to spar? I heard Eragon is heading down to the grounds as well."

"He is, from what I know. I would love to spar against you, Lutheni. I have a few techniques I want to try out."

"It's settled then. Come, I will show you the way."

Gwihir flew out of the hole in the wall and glided down to meet them along the path. Lutheni lead Imrik through an area of the city had had not yet been in. It could have been anywhere in Ellesméra, the tree-houses as intricately worked as ever. At last, Lutheni lead them out into a clearing of grass. Various elves of both sexes were dotted around the yard, sparring in groups or pairs. Imrik saw at the other end of the field that Eragon and Saphira had just arrived. Lutheni spotted them and wandered over.

"Greetings Eragon, greetings Saphira. Who is your friend?" asked Lutheni.

"I am Vanir of House Haldthin," the elf touched his fingers to his lips, as did Imrik and Lutheni. Imrik spoke first, almost cutting off Vanir, but the Alagaësian did not interrupt him.

"May good fortune rule over you."

"And may the stars watch over you." He replied with the barest courtesy. Lutheni repeated the phrase, and Vanir replied. "Well met, dragon."

"_Well met, Vanir._"

"If you will excuse us, I have been instructed to spar with Rider Eragon," the elf said this as if he would much rather be somewhere else. Imrik narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Of course, we were going to spar ourselves," he said, keeping his tone civil.

Both pairs moved away and began to spar, Imrik swinging his spear like an axe at Lutheni, who was forced to catch the blade of her own. The struggled for a while, each trying to force the other down, then separated. Imrik could feel the elves watching him. Lutheni charged him, axe held high. He darted to the side to avoid the blow and cut at her with his spear, which she deflected with her lion cloak. She whirled and grinned at him. He grinned back.

"Dead." Imrik glanced over at Vanir and Eragon to see the elf holding the boy at sword point. Eragon shrugged of the blade and went to retrieve his sword. "Dead," said Vanir again, "How do you expect to defeat Galbatorix like this? I expected better, even from a weakling human."

Imrik stood very still. Although Eragon may not understand him, he still considered them friends, and Imrik would not let an insult to his friends go unpunished.

"Then why don't you fight Galbatorix yourself instead of hiding in Du Weldenvarden?" retorted Eragon.

Vanir stiffened with rage. "Because," his voice high and proud, "I am not a Rider. And if I were, I would not be such a coward as you."

Blood roared in Imrik's ears. A dozen fell curses rose to his lips as his anger seethed and boiled under his skin. Eragon was leaning on his sword, his back to the elf.

"Coward, I say. Your blood is as thin as the rest of your race's. I think that Saphira was confused by Galbatorix's wiles and made the wrong choice of Rider." The elves that watched gasped and muttered, openly disapproving of Vanir's breach of their code of courtesy. Imrik walked very slowly and very quietly up to behind Vanir and was about to strike him down when Eragon's fury broke like a river breaks a dam. He flew at Vanir, driving him into the centre of the field with a flurry of savage blows. He slashed at Vanir's hip drawing blood, then cried out in agony as his back gave way and he fell to the floor. Vanir stood over him, a sneer of his face.

Imrik stalked over to him, his spear held ready in his hand. Vanir looked up and glowered at him, raising his sword into a ready position. They circled each other, spear blade crossing sword blade. Both elves watched the other with hawk-like attention, searching for weakness while watching for attacks. Eragon stirred to their right and Lutheni moved to help him up. Imrik growled in his throat; a low, threatening sound that came directly from Gwihir. The voice of the dragon unnerved Vanir, Imrik could see it in his eyes. His experience in battle told him that Vanir would strike soon, probably a slash to the high chest after trying to bat away Imrik's spear. His steps gave him away, as did the strain building in his leg muscles as he tensed to spring. Vanir's eyes darted from Imrik's eyes to the spear blade and back, a movement that would have been missed by any who was not experienced in duels. Imrik grinned internally as Vanir fell right into the trap, executing Imrik's thoughts to the letter.

Imrik let his spear be pushed aside by Vanir's superior strength, but evaded his slice and thrust his spear butt under Vanir's guard and into his elbow, forcing his arm around. Utilising his speed, Imrik struck again before Vanir could recover, knocking the sword from his hands.

"Dead," he said with a smirk, placing his spear point to Vanir's throat.

Vanir looked confused and shocked at being disarmed and beaten. His face quickly morphed into one of anger and embarrassment.

"Don't be embarrassed, you're a good swordsman," said Imrik with a slight mocking tone to his voice, "However, you still believe in your own invincibility, which suggests you are young and un-blooded. Next time you insult someone, be mindful of who else is listening."

Vanir flushed and swept away to retrieve his sword. He began to sheath it before Eragon called out to him.

"Where are you going? We have unfinished business, you and I."

"You are in no fit condition to spar," spat Vanir.

"Try me," responded Eragon, limbering up. Vanir growled and turned to face him. They sparred for the assigned hour while Imrik traded blows with Lutheni, practicing his new technique while Lutheni came up with ways to defend against it. Imrik was pleased with himself as he and Gwihir flew towards the Crags. Saphira and Eragon tried to catch up with them but Gwihir would not let them get close, his anger still boiling away beneath the surface. It seemed that every night he would master it somewhat, then the next day's training would bring his rage crashing to the front once more. It worried Imrik greatly, although he was unsure what to do other than offer kind words and support. There was little else he could do at this point.

The day followed the previous pattern of events. The dragons would leave with Glaedr and Imrik and Eragon would stay with Oromis. They would perform the Rimgar, although Eragon seems apprehensive when asked to join them in the exercise. When they had completed the task, Eragon was sent into the woods and Imrik was tutored in gramarye, learning more subtle words and how to use phrases quickly and efficiently. He also began to train his mind to focus on one thing, trying to school himself into readiness for no-verbal manipulations of energy. Oromis had told him of the skill required for such a feat, and the dangers it possessed, yet Imrik was determined to master it. He felt that learning such a thing would give him another edge in combat over the humans. Not that he needed it, being an elf, and a Caledorian prince no less.

When Eragon returned, Imrik went to the glade and meditated, not so much on the glade but on what he had learnt earlier, solidifying his knowledge and maintaining a clear mind with which he could focus solely on one thing. He tried it, mouthing the words to the spells while practising them in his mind, trying to keep all distractions at bay. When he was sure he had it, he called upon his power and spoke in his mind "Up," in the ancient language. He felt himself rise of the stump of wood and felt a thrill of success pass through him. Gwihir focused on him to find out what was going on and disrupted Imrik's focus, sending him tumbling to the ground. Gwihir chuckled and withdrew from the contact, leaving Imrik wondering if it had been deliberate or not. After checking on the progress of the falcon chicks, he made his way back to the hut.

He came in as Oromis was talking to Eragon about ways to kill with magic. He had only just begun so Imrik sat down next to Eragon and listened into the conversation.

"If it's so easy to kill people though, what's the point of us or Galbatorix raising an army?" asked Eragon.

"To be succinct, tactics. Magicians are vulnerable to physical attack when they are embroiled in their mental struggles. Therefore, they need warriors to protect them. And warriors must be shielded, at least in part, from magical attacks, else they would be slain within minutes. These limitations mean that when armies confront one another, their magicians are scattered throughout the bulk of their forces, close to the edge but not so close as to be in danger. The magicians on both sides open their minds and attempt to sense if anyone is using or is about to use magic. Since their enemies might be beyond their mental reach, magicians also erect wards around themselves and their warriors to stop or lessen long-ranged attacks, such as a pebble sent flying at their head from a mile away,"

"Surely one man can't defend an entire army," said Eragon.

"High Loremaster Teclis would beg to differ, Eragon. He, along with two other high mages, almost singlehanded changed the course of the First Chaos Incursion because of his immense magic power. He is the greatest living mage in my world, capable of destroying entire cities with his powers or protecting a thousand warriors from the incoming fire of enemy archers," Said Imrik, thinking back to the stories he had heard about Teclis. The Incursion had been before his time but he knew all of the great tales of Tyrion and Teclis.

"He sounds almost too powerful to be mortal," said Eragon in wonder.

"He is blessed by the gods," answered Imrik.

"Sadly, not all magicians have that power, so to accomplish any semblance of protection for an army, magicians must work together and spread themselves throughout the force so that most of the men are within the range of their protection. The greatest danger in this sort of conflict is that a clever magician may think of a unique attack that can bypass your wards without tripping them. That itself could be enough to decide a battle.

"Also," said Oromis, "you must keep in mind that the ability to use magic is exceedingly rare among the races. I can only guess that the same holds true in your world, Imrik?"

"To an extent, although mages will be found in almost every army. The elven races, the Slaan and the forces of Chaos tend to have a greater amount than others, however, and the dwarves have none at all, shunning magic and instead relying on runes imbued with power from their gods," replied Imrik simply. He was not really in the mood for long explanations as he could feel the anger from Gwihir affect his own feelings.

"I see. But as I was saying, the majority of those blessed with magic in this world have little or no appreciable talent; they struggle to heal even so much as a bruise."

Eragon nodded in agreement. "But it still takes the same amount of energy to accomplish a task."

"Energy, yes, but lesser magicians find it harder than you or I do to feel the flow of magic and immerse themselves in it. Few magicians are strong enough to pose a threat to an entire army, with exceptions in your world of course, Imrik. Those who are usually spend the bulk of their time during battles evading, tracking, or fighting their opposites, which is fortunate from the standpoint of ordinary warriors, else they would all soon be killed."

"The Varden don't have many magicians," said Eragon troubled.

"That is one reason why you both are so important," said Oromis, looking between them. Imrik exchanged a glance with Eragon.

"Wards, as I understand them, work only so long as the caster or source of power remains focussed and the attack does not exceed the magnitude of the warding energy. Is this the same for the wards in gramarye?" Asked Imrik after a moment.

"Similar, although wards will drain the energy they need from the body of the caster, just as a normal spell would, when they are triggered. When they are not triggered, they will not take your strength."

"Then, given time, you could acquire countless layers of wards. You could make yourself..." Eragon struggled with the ancient language for a moment. "...untouchable? ... impregnable? ... impregnable to any assault, magical or physical." Said Eragon, looking confused.

"Wards rely on the strength of the body. If that strength is exceeded, you die. No matter how many wards you have, you will only be able to block attacks so long as your body can sustain the output of energy."

"And Galbatorix's strength has been increasing every year... How is that possible?" asked Eragon. It was a question that Imrik had puzzled over in the night before he had gone to sleep a few times, however he had never been able to find an answer that made sense and didn't chill his blood at the thought. Next to these dark thoughts, his emotional turmoil over Arya seemed trivial.

"it is not appropriate to have this discussion at the present," said Oromis.

"Then you know?" exclaimed Imrik and Eragon in unison.

"I do. But that information must wait until later in your training. Neither of you are ready for it." Oromis looked at them both as if expecting argument. Indeed, Imrik felt like arguing, but he knew that the old elf was as stubborn as Lutheni.

Eragon bowed. "As you wish, Master."

"Aye, as you say," said Imrik, reluctantly.

"If battles with magicians are conducted like you said, then why did Ajihad let me fight without wards in Farthen Dûr? I didn't even know that I needed to keep my mind open for enemies. And why didn't Arya kill most or all of the Urgals? No magicians were there to oppose her except for Durza, and he couldn't have defended his troops while he was underground."

"You had no wards?" asked Imrik, astonished. He himself had a ward built into his armour, a blessing from its divine creator. He had simply assumed that Arya or one of the magicians in the Varden has placed them around Eragon. The news shocked him.

"Did not Ajihad have Arya or one of Du Vrangr Gata set defences around you?" demanded Oromis, ignoring Imrik's own outburst.

"No, Master."

"And you fought thus?"

"Yes, Master."

Oromis's eyes unfocused, as if he had withdrawn into himself in the wake of some great shock. He spoke again suddenly, "I have consulted Arya, and she says that the Twins of the Varden were ordered to assess your abilities. They told Ajihad that you were competent in all magic, including wards. Neither Ajihad or Arya doubted their judgement on the matter."

Eragon swore colourfully in both the ancient language and his own while Imrik joined him in high elven, curses that would have made Khaine himself blush rolling off his tongue. Treachery was something that struck home with any of the Asur and it sent him into a rage.

"Please do not befoul the air, it ill becomes you both," said Oromis mildly, "In any case, I suspect the Twins allowed you into battle unprotected not so you would be killed, but so that Durza could capture you."

"What?" questioned Eragon.

"By your account, Ajihad suspected that the Varden had been betrayed when Galbatorix began persecuting their allies in the Empire with near-perfect accuracy. The Twins were privy to the identies of the Varden's collaborators. Also, the Twins lured you to the heart of Tronjheim, thereby separating you from Saphira and placing you within Durza's reach. That they were traitors is the logical explanation."

"If they were traitors, it doesn't matter now, they're long dead," said Eragon.

"As they deserve," said Imrik with venom. He had never liked the Twins and this recent revelation made him glad to know they died beneath the ground, far from the light of day.

Oromis gave him a disapproving look, but did not challenge him. "Arya said that the Urgals did have magicians in Farthen Dûr and she fought many of them. None of them attacked you?"

"No, Master," replied Eragon.

"Nor you, Imrik?"

"No, they probably had orders not to attack the dragon or her Rider and so assumed that that order extended to me as well," he replied, thinking back and reliving the battle in his head. He could not recall meeting any magicians, although he would have lacked the knowledge to recognise them anyway.

Over the next hour, Oromis taught them twelve methods to kill. All of them were surprisingly easy to memorise and took no more energy than picking a flower. Eragon grinned with the new knowledge and Imrik gave him a quizzical look.

"The Ra'zac won't stand a chance the next time they cross my path," he said with relish.

"You must still be wary of them," said Oromis cautiously.

"Why? Three words and they'll be dead."

"What do osprey's eat?" asked Oromis

"Fish, of course."

"And if a fish were slightly faster and more intelligent than its brethren, would it be able to escape a hunting osprey?"

"I doubt it," said Eragon. "At least not for very long."

"Just as ospreys are designed to be the best possible hunters of fish, wolves are designed to be the best hunters of deer and other large games, and every animal is gifted to best suit its purpose. So too are the Ra'zac designed to prey on humans. They are the monsters in the dark, the dripping nightmares that haunt your race."

"What manner of creature are they?"said Eragon with horror.

"Neither elf; man; dwarf; dragon; furred, finned or feathered beast; reptile; insect; nor any other category of animal."

Eragon laughed nervously, "Are they plants then?"

"Nor that either. They reproduce by laying eggs, like dragons. When they hatch, the young – or pupae – grow black exoskeletons that mimic the human form. It's a grotesque imitation, not convincing enough to let the Ra'zac approach their victims without undo alarm. All areas where humans are weak, the Ra'zac are strong. They can see on a cloudy night, track a sent like a blood hound, jump higher, and move faster. However, bright light pains them and they have a morbid fear of deep water, for they cannot swim. Their greatest weapon is their evil breath, which fogs the minds of humans – incapacitating many – though it is less potent on dwarves, and elves are immune altogether."

Imrik thought of the terror these creatures would sow in humans. There were few things so specifically designed for killing a race as these Ra'zac. It made him think of Chaos, and the many mutations and adaptations that the followers of the Dark Powers often sported. Tentacle limbs, insect-like eyes or leathery wings were common amongst the dread hosts of Chaos, the warping powers of the Lords of the Wastes shaping their subjects to their whim.

"It felt like a dream where I wanted to run but I couldn't move, no matter how hard I tried," said Eragon in a whisper.

"As good a description as any," replied Oromis calmly, "Though the Ra'zac cannot use magic, they are not to be underestimated. If they know that you hunt them, they will not reveal themselves but keep to the shadows, where they are strong, and plot to ambush you as they did by Dras-Leona. Even Brom's experience could not protect him from them. Never grow overconfident, Eragon. Never grow arrogant, for then you will be careless and your enemies will exploit your weakness." Oromis look pointedly at Imrik when he had finished, making him now that the warning was also directed at him. Imrik ignored the criticism, for his pride was well deserved and he always had the measure of his enemy before he crossed swords with him.

"Yes, Master," replied Eragon.

"The Ra'zac remain pupae for twenty years while they mature. On the first full moon of their twentieth year, they shed their exoskeletons, spread their wings, and emerge as adults ready to hunt all creatures, not just humans."

"Then the Ra'zac's mounts, the ones they fly on, are really..."

"Aye, their parents."

**N/A: Well, bet you'd all given up on me and left me for dead. Fair enough, I haven't updated for an atrociously long time and for that you have my apologies. I was rather busy for a time with exams, revision and other matters of a more personal nature. I had half of this written by April but just completely lost motivation after my exams until I received a few reviews that gave me a kick of life and I finished this. It's not really where I wanted to end it but it seems that I keep overestimating myself. Ah well, I hope you guys enjoyed it, I'll try and update by the end of September. Just down hold your breath.**

**Caledor out!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**A/N: ****So, this chapter may be a bit of disappointment to some of you. I am not going to recount the whole of the Blood-oath celebration, I simply cannot write it that way. I have rewritten this chapter many times over the past weeks trying to do so and never got further than one hundred words. I will however explain what has happened through references to the past, so you won't be missing too much. **

**Now we come to a junction. This chapter is much shorter than any other because it is the final chapter of this leg of the story. The lost prince is about to go home. The next "book" will begin soon, under the title of The War of Fates. I hope you will all keep reading with the enthusiasm that you have been reading this story. I thank all my readers and reviewers for making this story worth writing, and the next stage worth imagining and creating. So without any more ado, forwards! **

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own IC or WFB, although I like to think that Lutheni and Imrik are mine.**

**Bold Text = High Elven**

"You're leaving as well?" asked Eragon as he stood behind Imrik, watching him pack up his clothes and belongings. He sounded hurt and surprised, but there was little Imrik could do to change that now.

"Yes. Gwihir and I must return to Ulthuan if we are to find you support for this war; for your war," answered Imrik without turning around. He folded another set of leggings and placed them in his travel bags.

"It's not my war! I didn't start it!"

"Yes you did Eragon, you started it the day you touched Saphira's egg. It is time for both of us to take up the responsibilities that are being entrusted to us. The child's play ends today. War is adult business," said Imrik, his voice hard.

"How will you get home?" queried Eragon after a silence.

Imrik turned to face him. He was still unaccustomed to Eragon's new form; half elven, half human. His extra height and strengthened limbs gave him a unique appearance even amongst the elves of Du Weldenvarden. His transformation during the Blood-oath Celebration had been shocking. Imrik's own blessings had been rather less... dramatic.

"The dragon's blessing gave me the knowledge I required. Perhaps the dragons of old knew the secrets of walking between worlds, as the Old Ones did, but who is to say? All I know is that I can return home with this new power, and for that I am grateful."

"And when will you return?"

"That is hard to say. The court of the king is fickle. Elven politics, as you know, move in slow cycles and, although I hate to say that I too share this weakness, my race have a fascination with intrigues at court. This could either swing in my favour or against it and this will determine how soon I can return. Thus you discover why I hate politics; actions are needed more than words in war."

"Let's hope they like you then, we don't have long..."

"I know, Eragon. I know... Fear not though, I will return and in force! You must not waste your time worrying about things that are out of your control. You know of what I speak, don't you? You must keep your fires burning and dedicate yourself to your tasks with even greater zeal. Your curse has been lifted, do not make light of that. Train and adjust to your new powers, make yourself ready for the war."

"I will Imrik, thank you... About Arya, I do try and keep her out of my mind, but she just seems to worm her way back in. It's like an affliction. I have resolved to master my emotions though. After my actions earlier in the week, I understand the depth of the matter, and how hurtful my irresponsible actions can be to her," Eragon said this shamefaced, his eyes turned down. His words gave Imrik more relief than he was willing to admit, for the young man's attraction to Arya was in direct competition to his own, although as of yet, Arya was oblivious of Imrik's feelings. While Imrik had vowed to himself to never reveal his true feelings to Arya for her own sake, it pained him with jealously and anger whenever Eragon approached her.

"It is a sign of your maturity that you have said this, well done. Now fly, Eragon Shadeslayer, for you have a lesson to complete and I have packing to finish. We will meet again, perhaps sooner than you think. Now go, or you shall be late!"

"Farewell Imrik of Caledor, may good fortune rule over you."

"Farewell Eragon, may peace live in your heart."

Eragon turned and left, closing the trapdoor with a clunk. Outside, Imrik felt the presence of Saphira withdraw as Eragon reached the bottom of the stairs. He heard her wing beats as she took to the air and flew towards the Crags. Imrik sighed and felt Gwihir copy him before flying back into the room. He turned to the green dragon and smiled weakly.

"_You'll see her again,_" he said kindly, trying to encourage Gwihir. "_Aren't you looking forward to going home?_"

"_Yes, of course I am. I know you are right. We will succeed and return soon... but I will miss her,_" replied Gwihir with sadness. Imrik kept silent and returned to packing.

His clothes were all packed away now, the only things that remained were the gifts. When he had announced his decision to leave on the last night of the Agaetí Blödhren, many of the elves had cried out in dismay. They had even pleaded with him so stay, but he had refused and explained his plan to them. Since that evening, elves had been coming to the tree to say farewell and to wish him and Gwihir luck. Some had brought gifts for the two of them. Arya had visited just before she had left herself. She had given him a letter of introduction from Islanzadí that was addressed to Finubar, written in the Ancient language. She had also given him a necklace of silver with a glowing emerald clasped to it.

"Carry this with you, so that I know you are safe. There is an enchantment upon it that will allow me to know if you are alive, dead or injured through the temperature of its twin," she had then pulled an identical necklace from beneath her jerkin, "And you shall know how I fare. Good luck Imrik, come back soon." With that, she had left.

Oromis had given him a few of the slates needed for making fairths, so that he could admire the beauty of Ulthuan for himself upon Imrik's return. Orik had vowed to send him off in the Dwarvish fashion, which Imrik had a suspicion involved large quantities of alcohol. The gift that had surprised him the most was from Rhunön. She had appeared at his door, completely unannounced just before he was about to go to bed. Her gift, however, excused her rudeness tenfold. She had wrought the sigil of Imrik's house, the Gwindorians, in gold and silver. Two silver dragons, looking as lifelike as Gwihir, reared up in front of each other and blew a stream of flames made of white gold that danced with light from their mouths. With skill unseen by Imrik in metallurgy, Rhunön had then fashioned these flames into a phoenix of red gold, blending the two metals together like a painter blends his paints. Beneath the phoenix, three mountains of steel exploded in a golden fury, their fires forming the shape of the phoenix from below. It was a stunning work of art and Imrik accepted it with reverence.

As he stowed away these gifts, and the many trinkets and amulets given to him by the other elves, Imrik found his mind wandering over his time in Alagaësia. He recalled the first moments he had set foot in the world, his wonder and excitement at the feeling of freedom from Chaos. He remembered the battle under the mountain, the trip to Tarnag and the voyage down the river. His chuckled as he remembered the meeting with Lutheni, then winced as the images of Lutheni's fist descending on his face pushed their way to the front of his mind.

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to Arya. He wondered how she had not yet realised his attraction to her, but he guessed that Eragon must have distracted her. The young man had made a few brash and heavy handed attempts to court her, some accidental, some deliberate, since that night in the gardens of Tialdarí Hall. Ever since the fairth incident, Arya had tried to minimise the contact she had with Eragon. She had actually increased the frequency of her visits to Imrik, which he had both enjoyed and feared. Eragon had confessed to him about his action in the dying hours of the Blood-oath Celebration, although Arya had neglected to mention it when she had visited him before leaving for Surda.

Imrik's heart was torn in two, he could not go on living like this. He must either consign himself to be her friend, or to try his hand as her lover. The latter actually frightened Imrik. He had never lain with a woman, although he would never admit as much. Yet Arya excited in him a feeling that he never knew had existed. He resolved to tell her his feelings if there was a chance before the war started, and if not, to tell her after the final battle was won. Having a goal settled him slightly, and he took a deep breath to focus himself. He packed the last item, closed over the saddlebag and turned to Gwihir.

"Time to get dressed," he said with finality.

Both he and Gwihir would have to wear their armour now, there was no space left for such bulky items. Gwihir had promised that he could fly despite the added weight and Imrik hoped he was right, not merely boasting. If their plan was to succeed, Gwihir would need to be ready to fly as soon as they crossed over the boundaries of the worlds.

"_Do you remember much of what happened, Imrik?_" Asked Gwihir.

"_Not really. I recall the blessing, and my gift... what was yours again?_" replied Imrik, thinking back to the celebrations. He began to attach the chest plates to Gwihir.

"_I carved a boulder into the likeness of Ulthuan as seen from above, every mountain and gulley, ever river and lake. It was a good thing to do, they loved it,_" said the dragon. He sent Imrik an image of the piece in question and Imrik grinned. He finished with the chest and moved to the tail and back legs, strapping the interlocking plates of ithilmar to the scaly hide of Gwihir.

"_It truly is marvellous. I thought my own gift was rather fabulous, if I say so myself,_"

"_A shield for each kingdom, depicting their ruling house's heraldry, if I remember correctly?_"

"_Yes you do. It felt good to work on a shield again,_" said Imrik with satisfaction, tightening the straps on the tail armour.

"_What happened during that blessing, Imrik? I know the immediate affects, but what really happened? You have spoken of it to no one, not even to me..._" asked Gwihir in a worried voice.

"_It was strange my friend. The dragon came alive, it stared at me. Then a voice spoke in my head. It said_ 'The gods see you, child. We see you too. They have given you their gift, now you shall receive ours.'_ After that, I felt them imbuing me with knowledge and power, most of which I still do not understand. I feel like I have been chosen for great things. I hope I do not disappoint_," replied Imrik in a thoughtful tone as he moved to do Gwihir's front legs, neck and headpiece. When he had finished with Gwihir's armour, he saddled him up and attached the saddlebags. He then turned to his own armour.

"_At least you know what is important. The rest can be understood later, if ever,_" said Gwihir as Imrik strapped on his chest plate and scale skirt. He attached his shoulder guards, greaves and bracers next. He clipped his cloak to his shoulders and strapped on his shield. He pulled on his armoured gloves and boots. Buckling on his sword, he turned to the helm, picking it up and rolling it between his hands.

"Such is the fate of the warrior..." he murmured out loud. He turned and smiled. "Ready to go home?" Gwihir roared in answer. Imrik grabbed his travel sack and jumped into the saddle. Together, they sailed out into the air.

Islanzadí had arranged for a stretch of clear ground to be used for Imrik and Gwihir's departure. As they flew towards it, Imrik saw that many of the city's inhabitants had turned out to watch him go. They lined the edges of the clearing set aside for their return to Ulthaun. As Gwihir touched down, Imrik leapt from the saddle to greet Orik, who was hurrying towards him from the huddle of watching elves.

"Orik, I am glad to see you. Where is Lutheni? She is supposed to be here..."

"Look around yourself, Imrik. You might find me then," remarked the sarcastic princess as she strode out from behind Gwihir. She grinned at him as she approached.

"I'm glad to have caught you Imrik, and you too Lutheni. You've both been mighty good friends of mine, and I thank you both for that. I promised you a proper dwarven send off, and that's what I'll give you," said Orik, his voice thick. He stood back from them, saluted in the dwarvish fashion, and then began to chant in the rough language of his people. Although Imrik could not understand the words, he knew the song was a send off for those greatly respected by the singer. He bowed his head, as did Lutheni and Gwihir, out of respect for their friend. When Orik had finished, he saluted the three of the again and walked back into the ranks of watchers.

"**Time to go**," said Imrik, and started to walk forwards. When they reached the centre of the clearing, Islanzadí and her court came forward to greet them. Imrik and Lutheni touched their fingers to their lips, as did the queen and her court. Imrik spoke first, then the queen, then Imrik again, using the last line of the greeting on this formal occasion.

"Farewell Imrik Gwindorian, I wish you safe passage home and I hope that you achieve your goal with speed. Your forces shall be sorely needed," said Islanzadí, her eyes soft and compassionate.

"Thank you, Queen Islanzadí. I shall give your regards and your greetings to King Finubar upon my return. May your swords stay sharp, for war is coming." The queen bowed her head and Imrik did the same. They straightened, and the court bowed to Imrik, Lutheni and Gwihir, then withdrew to the crowd. Imrik took a pace forward, looked around at the assembled elves and smiled. He placed his right hand over his heart and bowed left and right to show his gratitude to the people of the wood. They stared back at him impassively for a moment, then an woman took to song. Her voice spoke of a hero who was to leave his home, vowing to return. His memory would be forever preserved, but his people were still waiting for his return. As the song continued, more elves took up the chorus until the whole glade sang with the music of a thousand voices. Imrik was awed and touched. He smiled again, and reached into his mind for the secrets that had been taught to him, the knowledge to blast apart the barriers between worlds and to allow him to slip through. He mounted Gwihir and pulled Lutheni up behind him. He strapped his legs to the saddle, then lashed Lutheni to his back.

"You can do this," she said encouragingly.

Imrik took a deep breath, exhaled, then raised his left hand and bellowed a word of command in a language older than anything save the roots of the mountains themselves. There was an explosion of sounds and a hurricane force wind slammed into them, nearly knocking Gwihir over. Many of the elves had been thrown to the ground and the trees around the clearing were bent backwards. In front of Gwihir, a line of shimmering colour ran vertically upwards from the ground to about forty feet above it. The edges whispered like curtains as the wind died down and Imrik knew that he had broken the fabric of the worlds. This doorway would lead him home. He fixed his mind on Caledor, levelled his spear and bellowed his war cry, urging Gwihir into a charging run. As the great emerald dragon reached the tear, he roared defiance of all odds. Then they passed through and disappeared from sight. The tear whispered for a second more, then with a sound like wind being drawn into the throat of a dragon, it closed up and vanished as if it had never been.

Imrik of Caledor was gone.

**A/N: Well, that's it for now. I will try and start the next "book" soon to compensate for the shortness of this last chapter, but it may take a while due to the complexity of the setting. If any of you know any sources I can look at for information of the court of the phoenix king, please let me know because I can't find any! If there isn't any, it'll make my job a bit easier because I don't want to get anything wrong and if there is no set lore, then I can't get it wrong :P Hope you all enjoyed reading The Lost Prince of Caledor, and I look forward to hearing from you when I begin writing The War of Fates.**

**Caledor Out!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: THIS IS NOT A PROPER CHAPTER. REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A PROPER CHAPTER. **

**THIS IS TO TELL YOU ALL THAT THE FIRST CHAPTER OF "THE WAR OF FATES" IS UP!**

**PLEASE READ IT AND REVIEW! THAT IS ALL. **

**Caledor 54**


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